


Father, Dearest

by Darkarashi



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Crack, Crack or whatever you want to call it, F/M, Father!Cullen/Demon!Inquisitor AU, God seriously I'm not even kidding, Take that Crack tag very seriously, This is only obliquely Dragon Age fanfiction at all, Wing Kink, You Have Been Warned, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-03-31 20:05:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3991033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkarashi/pseuds/Darkarashi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Father Rutherford, a man of the cloth, ex-Templar and paragon of what it means to have dedicated one's entire life to the Chantry has come across a problem rather unlike anything he's had to manage before. A demon, but one he cannot defeat on his own. A demon with a personality and desire unlike any he has faced before. A demon who challenges his every move and...</p>
<p>A demon who may not, in fact, be a demon at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I heavily debated even putting this up in the Dragon Age tag, because of how little it relates to canon. But it was a story I wanted to write after seeing some fanart on tumblr. Shocking, I know. It's a trend with me. Anyway, this is really more just a story that happens to have some characters that might be recognizable in it than it is actual fanfiction of Dragon Age: Inquisition. If you like to read this sort of thing, please carry on. 
> 
> But I gave you like...hella fair warning.

“ _No_ , I told you to _leave me_. Just _go away_.”

The Chantry was dark and nearly empty this time of night. Usually, the only people who remained were devout Chantry sisters, wanting to recite the Canticle of Light just once more before retiring to bed to dream of the Maker and His Bride – but even they were leaving the Chantry at this hour. To hear the lament of one of his parishioners, however, that was indeed odd. Father Rutherford was always available, as he lived in the Chantry presbytery, which was but a few steps from the Chantry proper, enclosed on the same parcel of land.

“I don’t _care_ about the deal. It’s done, now _leave_. Just leave, go away, let me _be_. You have taken everything from me, and you won’t let me use my last wish!”

The tortured soul wailed, and the few Chantry sisters who had remained quickly made themselves scarce. There was no reason for them to be involved in this. The wailing man started beating his hands on the pews, trying to drown out his own screaming with the sounds.

Father Rutherford walked slowly towards where the distressed parishioner was crouched down in between two pews, feverishly praying. If his memory served correctly, this particular man had been in the Chantry since he had opened the doors that morning. The man had been praying feverishly, trembling and reciting the Canticle of Light with an intensity that had not surprised the Father. It was not at all unusual for such devotion to be seen, and Father Rutherford had thought nothing more of it. Until now.

The poor man moaned pitifully, pressing his hands into his ears and wilting away from whatever presence was causing him pain. He was pale, his skin was wan and waxy, sallow, yellowed, and his dark hair hung limply in his eyes. When the parishioner caught sight of the Father approaching him, he looked nervously between the Father and a spot directly next to him, what little color there was in the agonizing man’s face vanished.

“No, no, _no!_ Nullify it! I – I – I don’t **want** this anymore! I wish to be done with this!”

“Maker’s breath, my child, what is ailing you?” Father Rutherford asked, reaching a hand out to the distressed man.

For a second, the man stared at him, his eyes wide, and then the man threw himself at Father Rutherford’s feet, sobbing. His arms wrapped around the Father’s legs, and he buried his face in the Father’s thigh.

“Father, please, I am-”

“ _Hush_ , mortal. You knew what you were getting in to.”

The feminine voice that broke into their conversation startled the Father, who jumped to the side, away from the magic-clad woman who popped into existence on the pew. She was beautiful, with red-blonde hair braided complexly up and out of her bluer-than-the-clearest-sky-on-the-most-gorgeous-day-in-spring-eyes. The woman merely grinned at him, and her slitted pupils gave him all the indication he needed to identify just what sort of malevolency this man was dealing with.

“ _Demon_!” Father Rutherford exclaimed, pulling his hand away, reaching for a weapon he no longer carried.

“Be still, Father dearest. I’m not here for you, and I am _not_ a demon. This mortal is reneging on a contract, and he seeks your Chantry’s protection,” she purred, waving the Father away rather as if he were an errant annoyance of a fly. “Not that the _Chantry_ could stop me. Even starved, they hold no power on me.”

“F-father, please! She seeks to take my life, she’s taken everything else and now she wants my soul!”

The poor man clung to the hem of Father Rutherford’s cassock, hiding his face in the voluminous fabric of the robe and sobbing all the more piteously. The Father wrapped a protective arm around the man’s shoulder, preparing to fend off this demon to protect this child of the Maker. That was his job. Protect and serve the Maker’s children, as he had done before, only this time, without a sword and shield in his hand. That did rather complicate things. But he hadn’t held a weapon in near a year, and demons were not easy to slay to begin with.

“No, you refused to maintain the contract, mortal. So you are to lose yourself when the bells toll midnight. You can keep yourself to yourself if you maintain the contract, or find another to take it for you,” she hummed, smiling graciously down at the trembling mess of a man.

In form and shape, she looked like the elvhen of old did, long tapered ears and beautiful beyond compare. Every last part of her was entrancing, captivating, and perfect. She wore nothing unusual, nothing scandalous, nothing that should be as alluring as it was, but even the Father could not deny the pull in his loins when he beheld her. She clearly knew the effect she had on him, and when he dared to look in her lyrium-colored eyes, that pull became a blood-searing conflagration. Father Rutherford steeled himself against her dastardly magic and glared at her. Her smirk told him that she knew it was a façade.

“And if another took the contract?” the Father grit out, looking between the man at his feet and the demon. He would **not** be tempted into breaking his vows over this demon. The foremost of all his vows was to protect.

“Then they would be bound by the original terms as this one is.”

The demon spoke casually, waving her hand in dismissal of the priest and rolling her eyes. He could not harm her, not really. She was bound to a mortal, and that protected her. Or, at least, she would be bound to this mortal until the midnight bells sounded from the belfry above. After that point, he was hers. The nature of the contract, you see.

It was tantalizing, even if it did leave her hungry. For one such as that to refuse to do something as banal as feed her, even when his soul was on the line? She just did not understand it. Mortals were indeed odd. It wasn’t like feeding her would kill him or anything dramatic like that.

“What are the terms of the contract?”

She huffed and rolled her eyes at him before answering.

“I, in exchange for being fed, I grant the human three wishes, and protection from my wrath. He has taken his first two wishes, and therefore, anyone who takes the contract takes those wishes on as well, and will deal with the ramifications to those wishes, as well as agree to do no harm to me. If I fail to grant any wish asked before the end of the period of contract, then I will be forever bound to whoever holds the contact. If whoever holds the contract fails to feed me as the contract dictates is necessary, full for the duration of the period, then I take their life.”

The Father looked down at the poor man, who was trembling. His job, as Father of the Chantry was to protect all the children of the Maker from beings like this demon. However, without all sorts of equipment and the full support of the Chantry, he would not be able to force this demon away, or bind it, or kill it. Time was running low.

“And if I took the contract, he would be free?”

“Yes, Father dearest. He did come here hoping someone could help him but…well…the hour is late.”

The unfortunate in question moaned lowly, clawing at his own hip, whimpering and cursing in equal parts. Feverishly, his hands would wander to his inner thigh, almost as if he were going to touch himself in a sinful manner, and then he would pull his hands away as if he had been burned.

“M-maker, _please_ save me! It hurts!”

Above them, the bell began to toll. Midnight was eleven strokes away. The demon reached for the man, peeling him away from Father Rutherford’s legs. It was nearly time. Nearly time to feed. He was so ripe and _full_ for her. She was going to glut herself on his very essence and then release him to the horrors of the Veil. She had one more soul to barter with, one more damned creature to be created so she could come closer to being undone. Her breaths came in sharp, excited pants.

“So sorry to disturb you, Father. I have business to tend to, if you would excuse us.”

The bell tolled again. Ten strokes remained. She pulled the man along behind her, dragging the screaming man when he refused to come.

“Wait.”

The demon stilled, looking up at Father Rutherford. A small, toothy smile played across her lips. He knew he was being played, that she was plotting this on purpose, had allowed this man to come here on purpose, would not be satisfied with anything except destruction and perversion, ( _nine_ strokes) that this poor man was nothing more than a plaything to her, but he was bound by honor and dedication to protect the devout, no matter what poor decisions they had made with their lives. This was his duty, he had sworn himself to the Chantry, and to the people the Chantry served.

“I will take his contract.”

Eight strokes.

Her smile went from small to immeasurably large. Her teeth were long and sharp. Beneath them, the poor man was crying with relief, blessing the very ground Father Rutherford stood upon, crawling to him, kissing his well-worn black boots, sobbing prayers and the Canticle of Light until the demon kicked him in the ribs to get him to shut up.

“You swear to uphold the contract?”

“I swear.”

“You will feed me.”

“Yes.”

“You will take on his wishes as if they were your own?”

“Yes.”

Five strokes.

“You will feed me for this entire month? Of your own volition?”

“ _Yes,_ by the Maker, _yes_ , I so swear, now release him.”

“Then take my hand be bound, Father Rutherford.”

She held her left hand out to him, and in her palm, he could see an emerald green shard of the Fade – the mark of a demon more powerful than any other he had seen before. Revulsion touched his consciousness ( _Three_ ), and he hesitated. Three tolls of the bell until midnight. If he did not act now, he would be condemning a child of the Maker to her soulless torture for eternity. He reached out, and took her hand. Green fire raced around their hands, and he almost pulled away. The bell tolled, and tolled, and tolled again, but the fire did not abate until the demon jerked her arm forward, pulling the Father off balance just enough for her to lunge and crush her lips to his.

Searing pain flashed through his entire being, and when his mind cleared, he pushed the smirking demon away from him. He wiped his lips to rid the cloying taste of magic off his mouth. She shook her left hand and sneered down at the previous contract holder, shooing him out of her way. Without even looking back at the priest, the unfortunate soul scrambled out of the Chantry, doubled over.

The demon chuckled, and rubbed at the mark on her palm. It spat green fire at her, and she cooed at it, opening and closing her hand a few times, until the fire calmed.

“There, then. It is done. Shall we retire to your room? You should get your rest. The binding process can be wearsome on you mortals. In the morning proper, we can discuss what has happened to y-”

“No, demon. You will explain it now, before the sun’s rise, and before my congregation is forced to behold you.”

The Father grabbed her by the arm and marched her through the Chantry. His mind was spinning in a thousand different directions, but the most prominent of which was handling this demon so it would not hurt the parishioners. The demon walked along, unperturbed by the action. It would not take long, not now, for the magic of the contract to start taking hold of them both. She could already feel her side of the contract activating, keeping her from being able to fight back against him. He was in command, for now.

“There is not much to explain. For this month, you will keep me fed as he did, and I will grant your wish. The other two wishes are already claimed, and their…affect will transfer to you shortly. The other mortal wanted two things from me before he began to beg for the contract to be annulled – which, I will tell you, you cannot wish for. The contract can only be nullified if we both agree to it. He was not willing to feed me.”

“What were his wishes, then?”

She smiled up at him, and with strength he would not have guessed she possessed, she pushed him back up against a wall, her lithe body pressed into him. He tried to push her off, but she did not move, despite his best efforts. Her hands slid down his sides, and it was as if he were not wearing any clothing. He could feel her touch on his skin. A gut-wrenching twist knotted his insides, and he felt something dastardly magical start wrapping around his…prick. Heat started there, and had the demon not been pressed against him, he would have crumpled to the ground, chanting the Canticle to keep him from sinning. He had not felt this manner of _desire_ since his younger days, and he had no – no idea what to do with this.

“He wished for riches unending, and you will have that, Father, for whatever use you find for it.”

In a clear mockery of what would be a lover’s embrace, she pressed her lips to his cheek, and then turned her head so she could whisper in his ear. Her thigh pressed against her cock. His hips jerked forward, searching for friction. He trembled, ashamed, and moved to disrupt her position against him. Still, she was not shifted. This was not – she was a demon, yes, but he had not thought – there was a burning in his loins and he – _Just think of the Maker and Andraste_ , _recite the Canticle_ – oh, oh he was all unholy fire inside. Desire tempted him with the press of her body to his, and he could feel the sudden swell of need that made his smalls feel smaller and his clothing feel constricting.

“And,” she purred at him, her hands travelling lower, “…he wished for a long, fat, **heavy** cock, to better please the women he spent his days fucking. What a man as pure as you plans to do with such a _grand_ cock, I am so curious to find out.”

Her hands reached down to cup his hyper-engorged cock through the cassock (Maker save him it was like there was nothing between her hand and his skin and she was _stroking_ him), and Father Rutherford found strength enough to push her away from him. She giggled, and he blushed furiously, his anger bleeding through after a few more moments. He panted, and adjusted his clothing, trying to get his breath even again.

“Do not do that again, demon. _Never_ touch me,” he snarled.

“You’ll have to get over that soon, my Father dearest. How else will I feed from you?”

Confusion touched his brow and he looked down at her.

“What?”

“How will I feed, if I cannot touch you? You have not already forgotten your part of the bargain? I have granted you riches and a magnificent cock worthy of the finest cunts in all of Thedas, and will grant you one last wish before the month is over, but you must _feed me_ as he once did,and that cock will certainly taste as divine as it looks.”

She opened her mouth wide, her tongue lolled out lasciviously, and his blood ran like ice for the merest of seconds before it scorched like fire. He had not anticipated this. His arousal did not abate, not in the slightest, but he was a man of the cloth, and he would not succumb to this harlot.

“You cannot be serious. I have taken _vows_ and-”

“None of them will mean much if you lose your life to me by the end of the month, now will they? But fear not, I will not force you. It will be your choice to feed me, when and if you decide to. Now, you have had a _very_ stressful day, Father dearest, and I think sleep will do you well.”

The demon inclined her head to the door, and stepped away from him. He certainly did not _scramble_ but he moved very quickly away from her and out of the Chantry. She followed behind, still smiling around teeth too sharp to belong to a mortal. The Father felt like a meal, and knew that his feelings were not incorrect in the moment. He was her meal, nothing more. The thought was not comforting.

She shadowed his steps, following him silently. Even without turning his head, he knew exactly where she was, and that she hungered for him. That realization made him tremble. He stopped at the door to the presbytery and turned back to the demon, the question on his lips already.

“That’s the contract, don’t worry. It’ll be intense for the first few days, and for as long as I’m hungry. Then it’ll fade as you grow accustomed to it and feed me. We are bound together, after all. Acknowledge the feeling and move on.”

“That does not soothe as much as you may think.”

She chuckled.

“I rather expect that it unnerves you entirely. But as I said when we formed the contract – you will feed me of your own volition. I will not force you to feed me. You made the contract, you know what is at stake. As long as you have no need of me, I will not bother you. Sleep well, Father dearest. Enjoy the benefits of our contract.”

The demon waggled her fingers at him and vanished into the shadows of the night.

“Wait, demon!” he called into the night, panic suddenly touching his heart. What if she went out to hunt or hurt another person while he slept fitfully in his too-small bed?

“I have a name, you know, Father,” she sighed, appearing out of mist again, her eyes aglow with the magic that was inherent within her. “And I am not a demon, not truly.”

“Demon, you will stay with me. I will not have you going around and tempting others.”

The demon rolled her glowing blue eyes at him, her arms akimbo, and her expression bordering on completely exasperated.

“You have no recourse to command me, Father. The contract does not give you that power over me. If you wish for that power, wish it. I serve no mortal willingly.”

“Then it is my wish. I will command your presence and your actions.”

The demon tensed, and stared at him. Her lip curled derisively.

“You are serious. You will waste the final wish on wholly binding me to your will? Even knowing the contract forbids me to harm you? Even knowing the contract will-”

“Yes. It is not a waste to defend the children of the Maker from one such as you.”

“I am not a danger to anyone, Father. I take nothing but what is given to me freely. I do not force any of them to do something they do not want to do, nor do I force myself on them. I do not force them to feed me in a manner they are uncomfortable with. Do not make this wish, _do not_ take my freedom from me.”

“You will stay here with me. I command it of you, and this **is** my wish, demon.”

She snarled, stepping towards him. It was not a threat, but she was clearly upset. Her breath came in sharp, labored pants, and there was panic in her chest.

“You are unwilling to _feed_ me, and I would otherwise look to others for nourishment to keep me from becoming unmanageable. But if you refuse to feed me and keep me from feeding from others to keep myself sane enough to follow the rules of the contract-”

“You will obey my command. You will stay in this presbytery, or with me, for the entirety of this month.”

The demon screeched and buried her hands in her hair. The air around her shimmered with magic and the Father crossed his arms and glared at her.

“Be silent, demon.”

Her howling cut out abruptly, and even though she mouthed curses at him, no sound came out of her mouth. The Father grinned. He still had some control over this situation. He could command her. He could commander her to get on her knees and worship him as something like her would have to be taught to do. He could command her to –

“Stop that, demon! Get out of my head!” he growled, grabbing her around the arms.

She threw her head back and tensed. The compulsion didn’t fade though. He still wanted her on her knees. He still wanted to ram his cock down her throat and empty his seed into her belly. The magic she had wrought upon him as part of the contract made everything that much worse. His body – this irrational need of his to have her – none of it was _his_ any longer. It was hers. It was all her fault. It was her doing and he wanted to damn her, but even that would bring her pleasure and he -

“I commanded you to _stop it_ , why aren’t you?! Tell me!”

“That’s part of the contract, _Father_ ,” she spat, jerking her arms out of his grasp. “You swore to feed me, and the contract will act upon you to encourage that action. I swore to grant your wishes, but I cannot do anything that would violate the contract, and the contract acts upon me to keep me tamed. You command me, yes, but I cannot undo what the contract dictates or I would kill you for daring to take my autonomy from me. And, again – _I have a name_.”

“You are a demon and I will call you as such. Get inside the presbytery. Now.”

She snarled at him, and vanished. He looked up, startled, until he heard the unwanted sound of glass breaking inside his home. Quickly, he turned heel and rushed into the small house, only to see the demon perched atop his cabinet, curled up all too much like an errant house cat, her eyes still glowing, and she, still glowering.

“Get down from there.”

The demon vanished, and reappeared, this time atop his table, purposefully kicking his favorite ceramic mug off the table as she got comfortable on it. The mug crashed against the floor, shattering into a thousand pieces.

“Stop using magic in this house.”

She huffed.

“I cannot abide by that rule, Father. I _must_ use magic or you will not be able to resist the pull of the contract. I am purposefully using a great deal of what magic I _do_ possess to shield you from the demands of the contract. It will shred your senses to the point where you would not be truly consenting to what was happening. My magic is protecting you from that. You cannot forbid me my magic, as it is the only thing standing between you and the debauchery you seem to despise. If you succumb to its pull, I won’t be able to stop myself. ”

“Do not lie to me, demon.”

“I am _not_ lying to you! I cannot.”

“No. Magic.”

The demon growled lowly, and the timbre of it made him shiver. There was an abrupt shift in the pressure in the room, almost as if someone had taken a huge breath in, and was holding it in their chest. Oh, she had a grand voice. All the better sounding, he was certain, if it came out of her mouth as his cock was down her throat. He was pulling his cassock off before the thought could finish echoing in his mind, his cock was achingly hard, and he knew he could satisfy _both_ of their needs. He could feel the newness of the change her magic had already wrought upon him when his hand brushed his cock through the fabric of his slacks. His cock was heavy and hot, and when he palmed it, desire slashed through him so keenly that he grunted.

He needed to feed her, to feed her full. He should feed her, stretch her mouth on his cock and feed her.

“Demon, feed from me.”

She stared at him, her brows drawn down. He could see the need in her gaze, he could _feel_ her hunger. She wanted this. She craved him. Her belly was so empty, so tight with hunger and she desired him to slake it. Her throat ached for the feeling of _his_ cock, and was dry for the want of his seed. The thought thrilled him.

“No,” she rasped, looking away from him.

“That is a command, demon. Feed from me. Now.”

“I have a name, Father Rutherford. This is not your choice. I will not do this against your will.”

He reached for her, and she did not move away when he grabbed her. Her body trembled at his touch. She tried to maintain her composure, tried to hold on to her side of the contract. Never against his will. That was her contract. She would never do this against his will, and this was _not_ his will. This was the contract. The contract, a magical essence with a mind of its own, wanted to force failure. It was hard to resist for them both.

“Lay down on your back, with your head off the table, demon. I will cram my cock down your throat and watch you choke on it and you _will_ feed from me.”

She moaned, biting the sound back behind her teeth. Father Rutherford cupped his cock through his dress slacks (Maker it was so _big_ now), his fingers working at the zipper and button. Her eyes were centered solely on where his fingers were working and she keened softly, moving absently to obey the command she had been given. Objection bubbled in the back of her mind, but she could not find where it came from.

“There’s a sound I want to hear more of, demon.”

“I have a _name_ ,” she whispered reverently.

“I don’t _care_ , demon. You have nothing but my cock, isn’t that right? No name, _nothing_. Just my cock, and nothing else. I command you to feed from me. Get on your back, like I told you to.”

She whimpered, shuddering and biting her lip. Even though she knew better than to obey, it was the command he had given, and she **had** to obey. She had to, and she did, rolling onto her back, leaning her head off the table, beholding the Father upside-down, her mouth opening in offerance for the barest of moments before she found herself once again.

“No. I have a name. I have a name, and this is not you. You did not want this, you did not consent until the magic -”

He pulled his cock free, and she moaned anew, opening her mouth wide, her words forgotten. She was breathless with need. What magic that had been wrought upon the Father could not have crafted such a beautiful cock on its own. He must have possessed a grand cock to begin with, and that made the hunger in her roar. Because now, his cock was flushed and ruddy, and inches from her mouth and there was a command rumbling in her mind. There was a curve to his cock that she had not expected, and when the Father wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, his fingertips barely met each other.

His cock was weeping precome, enough of it that his cock was already slick with it. Idly, the Father pumped his hand up and down his newly elongated shaft, and with every slow drag of his hand up, a fresh wave of precome would drench his cock. She could press her lips against the crown of his cock and _drink_ until her thirst was slaked and then take him deep into her throat so she could _feed_ until her hunger was conquered.

Oh, she was **hungry**.

“I consent entirely to this. I want to feed you, now take my cock in your mouth and _suck_ , demon.”

His words were hollow, tainted by the song of the contract that hummed in the background of their interaction. She wanted, she craved, she needed, she was so hungry after so long without feeding, and her mouth was opening wide, and she was so ready to taste the salt-bitter of his cum in her mouth and forget about everything else except drowning in the pleasure of feeding after so long.

He pressed his cock to her lips, and she tried, she tried so hard to resist. But she was so _hungry_ , and he said he consented. He told her that she needed to feed from him. He commanded her, he _wanted_ this. She wanted this. She wanted his cock so deep inside of her mouth that she couldn’t breathe anymore; she wanted to fill her belly with his seed, and she knew he was swollen with what she craved already. His body was changing to suit her needs. He was bound to a demon with a voracious appetite and it was his job to feed her.

“Aah…mmmnn,” she moaned, trying to remember why she was supposed to tell him to stop. Because she was supposed to tell him to stop. She was, she was, she was, she was.

“Feed from me, demon,” he commanded, one of his hands wrapping around her throat.

The other joined soon after, holding her still, keeping her from moving (not that she wanted to) as he started to _push_ his cock into her mouth. She moaned with him, her voice muffled by his almost too-large cock slowly, _slowly_ , sliding into her. Hunger roared in her ears, desire blistered his blood, and he hissed a curse as he felt her tongue slowly wrap around him. Her tongue was longer than any mortal’s could feasibly hope to be, and the further he pushed into her, the more of that tongue he could feel twining around him.

His cock slid so easily into her mouth, parting her flushed lips. There was no resistance when he hit the back of her throat. No, he just kept _going_ , deeper and deeper and deeper into her. He felt the bulge of his cock pass beneath his palms, and grunted. If he squeezed, he could feel the pressure of his hands on his cock. The sensation had him groaning, but before he could fully bottom out in her delicious, wet, heat there came a knock at the door.

“Father Cullen! Father Cullen, please answer the door!”

He snarled at the interruption, snapping his hips forward into her mouth. She moaned lowly, arching her back up, reaching over her head to grab the Father by his hips and pull him deeper into her. She swallowed him down as best she could, wanting nothing more than to glut herself on his seed. Slaking her hunger was the only thought she had, and that need, without the use of her magic to keep him from feeling what she felt, meant the Father was bound to the same desire she was.

The pounding at the door did not cease, and only grew in urgency as the Father and the demon careened down into pleasure. Her pleasure at having his cock bled into his pleasure at giving her his cock bled into her pleasure of having him bled back into his pleasure, and even without thrusting, without moving any more than he already had, he was cumming with a broken moan. The demon choked as his cum flooded down her throat, pulling the Father even tighter to her mouth, sealing her lips around his cock and swallowing desperately.

“Father Cullen! Please, I know the hour is late, but please, answer the door!”

The Father pulled his cock free of her mouth by agonizing inches, and she whimpered at the loss of the fullness in her throat. She suckled the head of his cock, trying to eke out any last drops of cum, and he collapsed over her, bracing his arms on the table. She had not relented her grip on his hips and pulled him back towards her. There was still hunger in her stomach, and she wanted to _feed_.

“Demon, cease your hold on me, and make yourself scarce,” the Father grit out, trying to pull her off of his cock.

“Mmmn, _noo_ ,” she keened, obeying his command, but still reaching for him. “I hunger, Father. Please… _please_.”

“Go into the back room, _now_ , demon. I must answer the door,” Father Rutherford snapped, his gold eyes flashing dangerously.

She sobbed brokenly and slid off the table. She slunk to the back of the presbytery, licking her lips hungrily. She wanted to feed, she wanted _more_. She had not eaten in so long, and now that she had eaten just the barest of minimums, she only craved him all the more. She was so _hungry_.

Father Rutherford answered his door, only after making certain his cassock was back in place and nothing was too obviously disheveled. His hair was mussed and his cheeks were flushed, but that was only because he had been busy feeding a demon’s appe –

“Father Cullen! I’m so sorry to bother you at his hour, but there’s been an emergency, and you’re needed! One of the parishioners collapsed and…”

He tuned the man’s fretting out, nodding absently along to his worries, too concerned with the quick-rising desire in his gut. The demon had not eaten enough, she still hungered. Feeding her had been decidedly pleasurable, and he already yearned for the next moment where he could force her to worship him from her knees. If she wanted to be a creature of perversion, he would give her perversion. He would bloat her with his seed, until she never thought to feed again. She would be _his_ and _his alone_.

“Bring the poor soul in here, and I will see what little comfort I can give him,” Father Rutherford said congenially, his mind still elsewhere.

The man gestured backwards, and Father Rutherford was more than shocked to see the unfortunate soul who had been bound to his demon being brought in and lain out on the table where his demon had been mere moments before, choking on his thick, new, glorious cock. The man was whimpering, flushed from forehead to fingertip, moaning indescribably lewd things about “Cullen, the whore-sucked priest”. Had Father Rutherford been a less disciplined man, he would have flinched at the words.

“We fear he is possessed, for he has done nothing but speak of you.”

“Leave us. I will tend to him as best he can.”

“Of course, Father.”

The men left, and the Father was left alone in his presbytery with the demon, and her previous contract. The moment the door was locked behind the concerned citizens, the demon appeared again, her eyes burning blue. He could feel her hunger again, roaring in his head, and he looked down at the poor man with the same hunger gnawing at his insides. Could she drink from them both simultaneously? Could she handle that? Maker, what would it look like to have her pinned beneath them both? To have her filled with their cocks, to have her breathlessly desperate for more, to –

_He had not summoned her back from that back room._

“Demon, I did not give you per-”

“ _Silence_ , Father dearest. This one is mine own doing.”

“What do you mean? I did not give you permission, get back to the-”

The demon waved her hand at him and shushed him. To his great surprise, he found his voice had left him, and he was standing, silent, as she stalked towards the weeping, cursing man and the priest who stood near him. The demon pressed her hands against the Father’s chest and pushed him back, until his legs got tangled with the legs of one of his chairs and he collapsed into it.

“No more commands, Father. I hunger. Feed me.”

Desire burned him (feed her, feed her, flood her belly with your seed, give it all to her, by the gods above, _feed_ her), and he found himself nodding along with her. She smiled and traced the outline of his cock through the fabric of his clothing. Almost immediately afterwards, realization did. He had shamed himself, forsaken his vows, and was willingly racing towards another degrading act with all the grace of a newborn foal. Her hands were on his belt, and she was leaning close to him, about to kneel down in front of him.

“Demon, use your magic.”

The air crackled with power, his cock swelled with blood, and need burned him. She knelt, smiling up at him, her eyes dark with need. He could feel his entire body singing for the want of her, the dark urge to take her again and punish her for being what she was rising like a tide of bile in his throat. But this time, he was aware of the magic and how it was working on his consciousness. His training, slow to shake itself into awareness, told him that it was magic-induced. His own fantasies **never** made him ache like this did.

“Demon, use the magic to block your thoughts from _mine_ ,” he grit out, hoping the specificity would give him clarity.

Blessedly, it did, and he shuddered a sigh of relief. The morning – in the morning, he would ask her for clarification, he would rail against her for doing what he had told her not to do – but for now, he had to bring peace to the sobbing man who alternated breathlessly between wailing and cursing them both for what she had done to him.

“Demon-”

“I have a _name_ ,” she snapped, vanishing out of the room in a twist of smoke.

Father Rutherford shook his head. He could call her back, but it would do no good. With her magic finally repairing the semblance of differentiality between the two of them, he could think clearly. He had much to atone for, but he could start this penance with healing this poor man of whatever the demon had done to him.

“Be at peace child, the demon is gone.”

“Never gone! Always lurking, always watching, glowing eyes in the dark shadows, waiting, wanting! Can’t give in, never give in. Eat you alive, destroy your very soul, she wants and wants and _wants_ and nothing will satisfy her hunger! You will feed her and feed her and when you stop, she tortures you with the pleasure of freedom before taking it away.”

“She is gone, child. Gone from you,” Father Rutherford soothed, reaching out to lay a hand on the man’s brow.

“No! I hear her, I hear her whispers, and her magic is still bound to me! I cannot…I cannot go back to anything that I used to have. Everything has her touch on it, everything reminds me of her, and now – now-”

The man wailed, clawing down his face.

“I have nothing! Nothing! She promised to give me everything, and everything she gave took more and more from me. Every time I gave her a command, every time I asked her for something, she did it _gladly_ , but for everything she gave, she took something more precious. Father, she will _kill_ you!”

“Hush, child, she is gone from you. It will all be well. Come to bed and rest. This will all fade in the morning.”

He reached to help the man up, but the man shoved him away.

“No! You don’t understand! The more you feed her, the more she needs, the more she wants, the more you give her. The more you give her, the more you _have_ to give her. The more she takes, the more you _want_ her to take, and the more she makes you offer. Father, find someone else to bear the contract. Do it now, before she feeds from you for the first time – as soon as she starts, you will _need_ her to continue. Even now, it burns me. I crave her and I _hate_ her. Find someone else to bear the contract. Do not let her touch you Father. Do **_not_** let her touch you.”

The man stumbled out of the presbytery, still cursing, calling for the demon to come to his side, begging her to take him again, cursing her in his next breath, pleading in the next, and so it continued as he ran away into the night.

Cullen sighed and closed the door. There was much to think about. The man’s cautions were ringing in his ears, but there was little he could do about them. She had already fed from him, and he had already felt the kiss of her desire brush against his mind. He already felt the heady burn of her need, and even with her gone, he ached for her in a way he had not ached for anything in a long while.

“Demon…come back.”

She hissed behind him, appearing out of the darkness.

“I have a _name_ , Father.”

“Yes, so you keep saying. What are you…what do you need?”

“I need your cum. In me. Feed me, and that’s all I need. You have your wishes, all I need is to be _fed_ ,” she snapped, backing away and baring her teeth at him.

“Why?”

“I am your _demon_. That’s all the ‘why’ there is. I am your demon and I need to feed. You bear my contract, which stipulates how I am to be fed, and now, you command my will. You’ve no idea what you’ve done to me.”

He could see her magic curling through the air, protective and defensive in front of her.

“Demon-”

“ _I HAVE A NAME_.”            

She vanished again. So he called her back.

“You will not leave this house without my permission or accompaniment, demon.”

A string of curses so vehement that they brought a blush to his cheek scorched the silence, and she appeared again, snarling at him. He knew better than to show shock or surprise at her sudden appearance, remaining perfectly still. She invaded his personal space, pressing herself against him with a sneer. Father Rutherford swallowed the burn in his throat and stared at her.

“Stop _doing_ that. Stop abusing that power. Your wish is so egregious, and you have no concept of what you have _done to me_. I have a **name** , Father.”

“Tell me your name, then.”

She gnashed her teeth, turning quickly away from him.

“My name is not to be _commanded_ from me. You would steal it, and I will not give it,” she growled to the wall far from him. “Do not command me to tell you it. You have already forced me once tonight. I will not be forced again.”

“Demon-”

“ _Father_ , stop. Ask a question, but do not address me as ‘demon’. That is not all I am. Not all I was.”

“What do you mean?”

“I will _not_ have my history commanded form me, either. It is none of your business. Our relationship begins and ends when your cock pumps my belly full of cum. That is the extent of it. Command me as you will, but you will not take my history or my name from me. Now go to sleep.”

“I-”

“Go to sleep, Father. We will talk in the morning.”


	2. Chapter 2

The morning came uneventfully, with the great bells of the Chantry tolling for morning service. Like every other day, Father Rutherford rose, and went about preparing his bland meal, and all of his normal routine actions. There was nothing to disturb him, no disquiet in his morning. He was content with this life, he truly was.

He dressed himself in his second of the two cassocks he owned, brushed his ever-unruly hair out of his eyes (and kept it back with one of the few luxuries he allowed himself - a gel from Val Royeaux that tamed the curls enough to be manageable) and turned to the door. He had parishioners to tend to.

“You are forgetting something, _Father_.”

He jumped, startled by the sudden intrusion of her voice into his morning thoughts. He turned, and beheld her, bathed in the golden light of the dawn. She looked…different, when bathed in gold. Her eyes still glowed, but her red-blonde hair made a halo around her head, and if one ignored the demonic slits of her pupils, she was a beautiful woman, dressed in simple clothing, but bathed in glory. He felt his cock stir, and shuddered as the remembrance of what happened the night before. Nervously, he looked to the table, where he had sinned egregiously against the Maker. That did not help. He had meant to talk to her, and now he could not remember what it was he wanted to say to her.

“What am I forgetting, then?”

“I am _hungry._ ”

He would have to sin again and again and again to save his soul. It would be a lie to say he was not looking forward to it somewhat. She had brought him pleasure, reminded him of what he had been missing by giving himself so completely to the service of the Chantry and the Maker. It was a sin, he knew. He knew it was sinful to look at her mouth and remember how her lips felt, how well her throat had massaged his prick, how she had sucked his cum from him with desperation, how she had listened to his every command, and -

“I will feed you after the morning service.”

She blinked, startled by the blasé statement. Her eyes narrowed, searching for the lie in his words. Slowly, she advanced on him, careful to move slowly, in case the Father lashed out at her. But he did not. He remained still, hands at his sides, waiting for her to move or speak.

“Truly?”

“If you behave, yes. I do have a responsibility to you.”

“Willingly?”

“Yes, demon.”

She flinched, pulling away from him abruptly. There was a sneer on her lips and he felt a brief flash of anger echo through the bond they shared. He started, looking at her carefully, but there was nothing else.

“Go serve your Maker, then.”

* * *

Leading the congregation in devotional prayer soothed his ragged nerves. The congregation chanted, he lead them with sermons and selections of readings to illustrate the problems with society. It was easy, comfortable to stand behind the pulpit and preach to such a small group of people. It was easy to forget the twisted path that led him here when he guided them on their own paths.

It was easy to forget that there was a demon in his presbytery, waiting for him to return to her so she could feed from him. It was easier to remember how she easily swallowed his huge cock down, how her throat had felt beneath his hands, how it felt when he had squeezed, how she had whimpered with loss when he had taken his cock from her mouth, how he had felt so very satisfied when he had cum into her. It was easy to crave that again, easy to fall into thoughts of sin when his mind was left to wander.

Beneath his cassock, his cock stirred. Cullen bit the inside of his cheek, trying to will his erection to subside. This was not the time, or place for such things. He was not near the demon, there was no reason to entertain any of these thoughts. She was not here to feed from him, he was here to lead his congregation in prayer. Even with the privacy afforded him by the massive, wide pulpit he stood behind, there was no reason for him to stand and think such lecherous things in the House of the Maker. But his cock was painfully hard, and his mind was unhelpful in helping him think through the temptation.

< _Oh, you are prepared to feed me? Good, I was getting hungry._ >

The demon appeared in the shadows of the pulpit, her eyes glowing blue, and her voice ringing soundless in his mind. There was a devious smirk on her lips, and Cullen had to bite back a curse. He was in the middle of reciting the Chant of Light with his congregation. They could not see the demon, not where she was curled under the pulpit, but he could feel her as she pulled his cassock up and over her body so she could work his belt undone.

This was not _right_.

< _Then tell me to stop, Father. **Command** me._>

He tensed as he felt her fingers brush his cock, paling considerably as she pulled it out of the confines of his slacks. Her mouth was on him within the moment, and her tongue was curling around his cock, and she was swallowing him all the way down to the root.

Right here? In front of his congregation?

< _You know no one will see. Pray to your Maker, or command me to stop._ >

His fingers gouged furrows in the old wood of the pulpit as she slowly pulled away from him, her mouth sucking nearly painfully hard on his weeping cock. He gave an involuntary jerk of his hips when her too-long tongue tightened around the head of his cock and he felt her chuckle. Beneath the collar that branded him a man of the Maker, there was a deep red flush, and he only prayed that it would not creep higher and give anyone present cause to question his state of being.

He wanted her to stop because this was _improper_ , but the Chant was not yet finished, and he could not pause between verses to hiss down at her. So she continued, slowly, agonizingly slowly – opening her mouth wide and sucking him into her throat until he could feel her nose against the golden curls at the base of his cock, where she would give him a few moments to acclimate to the feeling, and to let the copious precome leaking from him slide down her throat, before she would start an even slower drag away from him, swallowing constantly, until her throat was undulating around him in a way that had him seeing double.

The torture was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. All he had to do was find a moment between breaths to hiss “Stop” at her and she _would_ , but he found himself unwilling to do that. He stood in silence when it was required, breathing heavily, holding himself still, shuddering as she tempted him with her mouth and tongue. He could endure this, he could _resist_ this, for just long enough to get through the service.

He did his best to keep his hips from jerking forward. That motion would be so easily seen by the congregants, even if they couldn’t see the demon currently wrapping her hands around his thighs, and her mouth around his cock. So he stayed perfectly still, giving his sermon as best he could manage when he had a demon driving him to sin, shuddering when her tongue wrapped all the way around his cock and tightened.

< _Father, please._ >

His chest tightened like it was caught in a vice. Her voice sounded in his mind, rich and heady with desire. His mind was foggy with need and mindless want, and he disguised his tempted state with a pious bow of his head. That only afforded him a better view of the bulge in his cassock where the demon was hiding, which did not help his situation in the slightest. He ached for the ability to see what it looked like to have her mouth on him again, and then burned with shame for thinking that.

He was leading a prayer, head bowed and dutiful, with a demon sucking his too-large cock beneath his cassock. His knees went weak. His tongue faltered around the words he had been practicing since he was a child, and he felt her laugh against his skin.

< _Finish your prayers._ >

She was gone, and he was suddenly cold and aching and desperate to adjust himself before the prayers were over and he had to greet his parishioners with his cock jutting out and distending the lines of his cassock. He scrambled to orchestrate a reason to drop his hands beneath the line of sight of the congregants, and hurriedly tuck his cock back into his slacks. His trousers had to remain as they were, and he could only send a quick and desperate prayer to the Maker that he would not have an embarrassing drop of his slacks as he tried to make it back to the presbytery to punish that impudent demon for daring to sully the Chantry with such sin.

The service was concluded, and in a haze of lust, he greeted his parishioners (his cock was leaking precome down his leg, could they see the spreading stain through his cassock?), talked with them about their plans for the day (he could feel the ghost of the demon’s lips still on him, did they see that in his eyes?), absolved them of their sins (did they taste the sigh of his sins on his breath?), assured them of his continued well health (they couldn’t see how his cock was straining to be shoved down that damned demon’s throat, right?) and made plans to visit one of the more lonely old women for dinner (the demon was hungry still, he could feel her hunger press on the back of his mind and would he ever be able to think without looking this back to her?) before excusing himself back to the presbytery.

He walked as fast as he could manage without being suspicious about it, his teeth grit against his own feelings. The closer he got to the place called _home_ , the more his entire body ached for the demon. It was another sin to lie at the feet of the demon, when he finally cornered her. He would drape her feet with her sins and then he would make her kneel in them until she was cleansed. The vicious thoughts soothed him, and then enraged him anew.

These were not _his_ desires. They were hers. How dare she?

“Welcome home, Father,” the demon purred as soon as he opened the door.

He was on her in moments, stripping his cassock off, throwing the too-tight collar to the far end of the room. She was already kneeling by the time he closed in on her, her eyes downcast in a mockery of a devotee’s chastity. But he could see her hands shake, and the smile on her lips as he struggled to pull his cock free of the confines of his slacks. He hated this. He hated how much he wanted this, he hated the way his breath left him in a rush when she opened her mouth wide, he hated how it fascinated him to drench her mouth and chin and _face_ with his precome, he hated how he watched her tongue lick it all away, hated how he wanted to never stop this exquisite torture.

“Father, may I?”

He hated the way she used his title, as a way to remind him what he was, and how he was doing so wrong by his vows. He hated it and he hated how beautiful it looked when she leaned forward to press her lips to the crown of his cock. He hated every moment of it and he craved the promise of more from her.

“Feed, you Maker-damned demon. Feed, dammit, and let this be over with,” he grit out through teeth clenched tighter than he ever remembered them being before.

“Gladly, _Father_ Rutherford.”

She licked her lips in preparation before she opened her mouth wide and slowly sucked his cock into her mouth. Cullen cursed prolifically under his breath as she worked her way down to the base of his cock. How she managed to fit so much _cock_ in her mouth, he didn’t understand. Because his cock, altered by her magic, was thick, wide, and **long** , too long for any mortal to manage, and she was humming as she happily took it all inside of her. She didn’t stop until her nose was pressed flat to his groin. Her tongue wrapped around him by some dark magic, undulating against him, making him shudder. Oh, this was torture.

She was so exactingly precise with all of her movements, keeping a pace designed to tantalize, and did it _ever_.

Her hands did not move from their position on her knees. No, she remained in perfect solemn mockery of his faith, kneeling as if she were praying, working her mouth along the length of his cock. Her mouth was slick velvety smoothness, hot as the hell she was damned to, and there was nothing that could dissuade her from her leisurely pace. From root to tip, she teased him, setting his blood aflame as if he were on Andraste’s pyre, never moving with enough force or conviction to make him cum.

“Damn you, demon, stop drawing it out and just feed already!” he snapped, reaching down to grab her by her too-long elvhen ears.

Her even pace faltered, and something unexpected happened –

She _moaned_ , trembling beneath his grasp. Her hands came up to grasp his wrists, trying vainly to pull his hands away from her ears. He only tightened his grip, twisting the tips cruelly between his fingers and she froze, looking up at him with tears brimming in the corners of her eyes. He pulled her ears again, and she whimpered, blinking the tears out of her vision. The sounds she made every time he tugged or twisted on her ears sent sharp lances of fire spearing through his chest, and he didn’t stop, pulling her down and back up by her ears, reveling in the control it gave him over her.

She worked him over desperately, whining through her nose whenever he gave a too-hard tug on her ears, sloppily sucking his cock all the while. All it took was the barest touch of her teeth to the crown of his cock and Cullen came undone. His world pinpointed down into a pleasure so acute that he couldn’t help the surprised “ _Fuck!_ ” that spilled out of his mouth. The demon drank greedily as he came – and came – and **came** again, each time feeling more and more like she was actually trying to suck his soul out through his cock.

Only when he pushed her away from him did she stop. But Maker above, his cock certainly didn’t, spouting a few more gouts of cum out to land on her face. The demon made a sound of disappointment and reached up to wipe his cum from her brow and cheek, only to lick her fingers clean of the otherwise offending fluid.

Cullen was still trying to catch his breath as she stood, smiling serenely at him, all hint of her tears gone.

“Oh that was, _fun_ , wasn’t it, Father? You got to pretend you were in control of the Big Bad Demon sucking your cock…do you want to keep playing pretend? Does that make it easier to feed me, when you get to make believe that you are doing the Maker’s work by punishing me? Maybe next time you should take me over your knee and paddle me before we begin – _really_ punish this poor unfortunate glutton, hm?”

She patted him on the cheek, ignoring the indignant spluttering that echoed her words, smirking at his confusion. The demon licked her lips, and he tried to ignore the conspicuous fork in her too-long tongue as she did so. His heartbeat still thundered in his ears, and his orgasmic high had not yet bled from him. The demon sashayed away, deeper into his presbytery, her hips swaying seductively from side to side. He wanted to throw her down and –

“Demon, _stop_. I am tired of being given over to your sick fantasies. Leave my mind alone,” he commanded, hastily redressing as he realized he was standing in his home with his cock hanging out.

“My Father dear, I do nothing of the sort to you. Your fantasies are your own. I’m just a vessel to receive them. Fantasize away, take no shame in what you want, and then feed me. It’s good for everyone involved. You get to unwind from years of Chantry brainwashing, and I get…” she turned, pulling her shirt up over her distended belly. He could only stare, equal parts revolted and entranced as she ran her hands over the swell of her belly. His seed, his cum, _he_ had done that. “…I get so well _fed_ , Father.”

Her hand, aglow with a shard of the Fade cast her belly in sickly greens. His stomach roiled, but his cock stiffened with want. How much more could he give her? How grotesque – how could he do that to her?

He shook his head. That wasn’t right of him to think. That was not _right_.

“That need is all you, Father dearest. Don’t go pinning your fantasies on my breast. If you want to see how far you can swell my stomach with cum, I invite you to do just that. You command me, remember? Tell me what you _want_. I am here to satisfy you.”

Cullen swallowed the sudden betrayal of his vows that stuck to his tongue. He tamped that urge down, buried it in layers of knowing just who, and what he was called to be. He was someone above such base desires and urges, and he would prove himself to be that. Demonic contract or not, he could – he _would_ endure this torture.

“I want you to stay in this presbytery unless I specifically call for you, demon. I will not have a repeat of this morning. You will stay in here, and only in here, unless I call you to my side.”

She rolled her eyes and waved her hands at him, dismissing him again.

“Have it your way, Father. Go tend to your flock with the spit of your demon covering your cock. I’m certain that will not lessen the gratuitous falsehoods that you feed _them_ , regardless. Feed _me_ when you come back home, and I will not bother you. Fail to feed me, and I may find my control of my magic slipping and filling your mind with lascivious fantasy again.”

“You said you would not coerce me into feeding you-”

“If you count flooding your mind with the thought of pleasure coercive, then I will not do it. But I tell you now – your seed is _mine_ for this month, Father. I will have it, or you have not fulfilled your end of our contract. That is all. Good day.”

She waved him away, and after he cleaned himself to be presentable again, he looked at her askance. The demon smiled at him, and he trembled.


	3. Chapter 3

They continued in a similar vein for the next week and a half. He would leave her alone during the day, only returning to his presbytery at night to feed the demon. She would suck his cock until he came hard enough to see stars, and then he would spend his evening praying for forgiveness for what he had to do and counting the money that was flowing into his Chantry and planning what to do with it al. For a while, he could abide by that. The demon behaved as well as he expected a demon to behave, playing her role perfectly.

When he wanted to punish her, she was penitent (on her knees, false tears brimming in the corners of her eyes, and she called him “Father” with a reverence that pulled something deep in him), when he wanted a fight, she was fiery (rough and unmanageable, she would snarl and spit and throw him around – but never enough to hurt him, only enough to get his heart pounding and his old training singing in his blood before he pinned _her_ down and made her choke), and she anticipated everything flawlessly. She was only satisfied when he had fed her, only malleable enough to let him sleep peacefully when she was droopy-eyed from overfeeding and her stomach was bulging. He hated how fascinated he was with that, hated how he wanted to gather her into his arms and comfort her, hated how he wanted to bury his face in her neck and sleep with her, his hands on her swollen stomach. But in the morning, she would complain of her belly being gaunt and her how overwhelming her hunger was, he would grit his teeth against the feelings she stoked in his chest, and the cycle would start anew.

He came to anticipate when she would begin to become unmanageable by when his cock would start to harden inexplicably and he would feel her hunger echo in his own stomach. So he would find an excuse to leave whatever he was doing, begging forgiveness, of course, and return to his home and his waiting demon, who welcomed him enthusiastically with a greedy mouth and a greedier belly.

It was _routine_ sin. The worst sort.

It was a sin of convenience, a sin that he committed with pleasure singing in his ears before the shame even occurred to him.

While he sinned, however, he did not think of that shame. No, he only ever thought of how her tongue felt, or how her mouth was so slick and hot, or how her throat was just perfectly tight around him. It was only after, when the demon retired to elsewhere in his home, and he was left sitting on his too-small bed that he thought at all about what it was that he was doing. He was consumed with shame, and with need. He ached to call her back to his room to take her again. He wanted to bury his cock in her throat and he craved the pleasure she gave him like he had not craved anything in a very long time.

 _That_ was his shame.

He wanted this. The warning her previous victim rang hollow in his ears, reminding him that he had been told how this would come to pass and not considered it more carefully. It was not even something that he had thought of until now. He had been warned and ignored it, and now he was sitting in his bed, nearing the midway point of the contract, and he was trying to breathe through the desire that was burning him from the inside out.

“Father dear, do you need me still?”

He looked up at her, his hands going up to ward her off, but somehow…halfway through the motion, he found himself reaching for her. She took his hands in hers and when he pulled, she settled neatly into his lap, straddling him like that was what he had wanted in the first place. It was hard to argue, regardless, because there was a whole new sensation to this encounter. A warm body in his lap, her hips rocking against his, and all at once there was nothing in the world but the two of them. His eyes nearly crossed when she leaned down to press her lips to his ear.

“Demon, this isn’t-”

“This is nothing more than we have already been doing, Father dear. You ache, I am here to alleviate it.”

He turned to her, his mouth open to tell her something, but she caught his lips with hers, kissing him gently. Cullen was still, frozen beneath her. His heart beat hard against his ribs, and he, for a moment, succumbed to the pleasurable press of her lips to his. This was far from his first kiss, far from the hesitant touches of his youth, this was - this was a demon in his lap, kissing him, rolling her hips against his cock, and he wanted her.

Panic touched him. This wasn’t right, this was so very much against his vows.

“Get off of me, demon!”

She moved away from him, smirking. He hated her. He hated her so much. He hated the curve of her lips, the sinuous dip of her hips, he hated everything about her and above all else, he hated how much he wanted to pull her back against his cock. He hated how he wanted her mouth on him, hated everything and he _hated_ the urges she birthed in him.

“Leave me.”

The demon shrugged, and walked out of the room. She was still bound not to leave the house, but for the next few days, she did her best to make herself scarce around him. He did not call her to tend to him, either. He wanted to stay as far from her as possible. It did not matter to him that his every waking moment was an agony of desire. It did not matter than his cock never abated its aching, and that he constantly had to find new ways to manage the fact that his entire body screamed for the want of her.

He managed to maintain his calm through the next five days, passing the halfway point of their contract. Every day he avoided her, he felt the need in the back of his mind grow. He knew it was her need, he knew it had nothing to do with him, he knew that. But Andraste’s flaming _ass_ , the thoughts made it difficult to function. She was in his home, constantly prowling just out of his sight, and he was mere moments from losing his control.

So he spent more and more time outside of the presbytery. Work was hard now, with all the money flowing into the chantry, he had the funds to see that the leak in the roof was fixed, the stained glass windows were cleaned properly, the wobbly pew was fixed, the altar got a new coat of varnish, and on and on. As soon as it was clear that there was more than enough money to get through all of the needed repairs, he turned his attention to the people in need around the Chantry. He did everything he could think to do to spend the money he was obtaining from the demon’s magic in a way that was beneficial.

Feed the hungry, clothe the poor, protect the children. All very good things to do with the surplus of money that seemed to fall into his lap at every available opportunity.

To think, but a few weeks ago, he would have considered this proof positive of the Maker’s influence in Thedas. And now, now all he could think about was how fucking _hard_ it was to not force that demon to her knees and relieve the days of frustration that had been building in his blood. His cheeks were bitten bloody, as was his tongue. His palms bore the half-healed scabs of dozens of little cuts from where he fisted his hands to keep from sinning in the night.

He would. Not. Give. In.

* * *

It was during the evening prayer, as he tried to hide his arousal from his congregants for the seventh day in a row, when someone burst in through the front doors.

“Father Cullen!”

He looked up from the prayer he was leading. The interrupter was covered in soot, and her eyes were wide with fright. She was panting, out of breath and unable to speak. He motioned for the woman to continue speaking, fear chilling him to the bone, and she barely managed a breathless, hurried:

“Father, the orphanage! Someone’s set it afire! We need everyone who can help to come!”

There was no time for him to call for an end of the prayer. No, he darted out from behind the pulpit and chased out into the night. The orphanage – the _orphanage_? He shook his head and ran, pulling his cassock up so he would not stumble on the long hem. In any other circumstance, he would have stripped it completely off, but his cock was still achingly hard, distractingly so, and he would have immediately been found out.

He had to shake the thought away.

It was better to think only on what he was trying to do. The orphanage was a conflagration, lighting the sky with vicious oranges and yellows. He was not the first person there, or even the fifth, but there were screaming children everywhere and frantic Chantry Sisters trying to count heads. A water brigade had been set up, passing buckets of water from hand to hand to throw onto the least fire-ravaged part of the building.

“Sister, how many are you missing?” he called over the chaos.

“Three! But there’s no way back in. The door’s collapsed!”

He bit his lip, trying to think. Three children missing. It would be counted a blessing from the Maker that no more than that died in such a catastrophe, but he – he could keep any of them from dying at all. He had that power. Well, not him, specifically. But he commanded the one who had that power. Over the din of the fire and the screaming and the wailing, no one would hear him call to his demon.

No one did.

She appeared out of the shadows, as if she had been there all along. The fire made her blue eyes burn brighter than he had ever seen them, and he had to bite down on the urge to flinch away from her. No one paid them any mind. No one even looked their way. He tasted her magic and knew it was intentional on her part to keep things as this.

“I need you to save the children.”

Her lips peeled back into a sneer and she invaded his personal space. Cullen’s knees went weak and he bit his cheek to keep the traitorous second command from spilling out of his mouth. This was the closest they had been to each other in a long while, and now he was nose-to-nose with her and his heart was beating hard against his ribs. But he still wanted to have her on her knees for him.

“No.”

“It is a _command_ , not a request.”

Some small part of him trembled when she pulled away from him. Her gaze was calculating, as if she was looking for a weakness in him. What she thought to find that was not already readily apparent by him desperately trying to get her to run into a burning building and save the orphans, he did not know, but it was still unnerving.

“It is a command you have no recourse to give me. Saving them would constitute danger to myself. You cannot make me hurt myself. Not by the laws of our contract. That fire was started maliciously, and I will not harm myself by entering it.”

“Then we have to change those laws. The children-”

“They will die. Yes. But you have refused to feed me, and my power is barely enough to maintain my sanity, let alone save the lives of three innocents. That is the price of _your_ failing. Had you fed me, I could have done this. But now I cannot. Not without restating the contract.”

“Then we will restate it,” he bit out, trying to keep his voice even. This was not what he wanted. But he must try to save the children. He had to. It was his job.

The orphanage was nearly completely consumed in flames, and every moment they stood talking was another that the children could be dying.

“What if I choose not to? What if I like the contract as it is? What can you offer in this new contract that will force my favor?”

“I-”

“Because as it stands, I have a contract with you that is satisfactory. And I definitely will not injure myself for something as unsatisfying as what we have now. ”

He knew the lie for what it was. He knew it was her bargaining for something better, he knew she was not at all satisfied with how he had been treating her, he knew because he had _felt_ her anger resonating through their bond and her curses had made his ears burn. He knew she was angling for something better, and he trembled to think what that might be.

“Then what do you want?”

“…I will save the children because it is right, and I will return to your presbytery afterwards and then we will discuss just what, exactly our contract will be. But the previous contract is annulled, with the understanding that you _will_ make a second contract with me.”

“Demon, I promise. I swear it.”

She held her left hand out again and he took it without hesitation. This time, there was no flash of green or a kiss he did not want. No, there was just the sudden sensation of _relief_ that flooded him as his arousal finally waned, and then the demon was gone, vanished into smoke and shadow. He tried to deny the fact that he missed – he actually _missed_ the smoldering heat in his loins, and he missed feeling her presence in the back of his mind, but he did. He missed it, and he was _worried about her_.

The building groaned, and listed heavily to the side, flames roaring even higher. The assembled rescuers were driven back by the force of the flames, screaming as they ran away. Cullen stood at a safe distance, reaching out to comfort those who sought comfort from him. They bowed their heads in prayer, and even as he lead them through the appropriate parts of the Chant, he kept his eyes on the fire, wondering if the demon was truly just _gone_.

She was a demon, after all. Unbound. A demon unbound, and he had taken no oath from her to force her to remain. She could be anywhere and the children could still be in danger.

Fear gripped his gut as he watched the flames climb higher into the sky. There seemed no end to the fire, no way to stop the flames, and the slim hope the children were still alive inside Hope faded, desperation grew, until he and all the others assembled looked away, unwilling to watch the children’s pyre consume them.

(In the days that followed, not that Cullen would know, rumors abounded over what happened in that moment – was it the Maker himself, coming down to save the children as had been prayed for? Or was it something else? Accusations flew alongside blessings, but no clear answer was ever found.)

A green flash of light, more dazzling than the sun itself, ripped through the building, sending flames out from the collapsing building, scorching the earth and driving everyone even further away. But when the flames receded, and the gathered crowd blinked the bright spots out of their eyes, the three missing children were standing, huddled beneath a cloak as black as night, stained with soot and strangely calm. They stood, huddled together in a ring of fire, untouched, unburnt, and whole. The air was heavy with the taste of magic to anyone familiar with it.

“ _Andraste_ preserve us,” someone whispered. “The Maker bless us all.”

When the Chantry Sisters collected them, the children looked up at the Sisters with clear eyes and told the Sisters that the Maker’s angel had come down to save them. Of course, the children were not quite taken seriously, and for the next few hours, everything was organized chaos. The Sisters and Cullen were trying to figure out where the children would be staying, and what could be done to see to their safety in the coming days. The proper authorities finally showed up, and the investigation began. Cullen had nothing to tell the officers – Templars like he had once been – other than what he had seen after he had arrived. There was not much in questioning, but he had to stay around and offer comfort to the parishioners. The awe of the miracle that had been given to them this night had him wandering in a haze of wonder.

The children were safe. They were safe and whole and uninjured. He did not stop smiling, not for the entire time he was there. This was a gift, truly a gift from the Ma-

Not the Maker.

The demon.

His blood ran like ice. The demon, who promised to do this for him, the demon, who absolved them of their previous contract so she could do this, the demon , who had done this, but had not walked out of the fire. She had said she would meet him back at the presbytery, and he had to hope that that was true.

Worry now touched his every interaction, and he could not move away from the burning building fast enough. He couldn’t get away from the responsibility of being the parish’s priest, however. They still looked to him for guidance and comfort, and he did his best to give it to whoever came to him. If his hands shook, it was easily passed off as concern, or nerves. It had been a rough evening, and not even their Priest could be blamed if he was shaken up.

He finally made his goodbyes, begging for the peace of his presbytery, and while the Sisters held him there for a while longer, Cullen soon found himself on the way back home. He did not want to run, or be _seen_ running, but he needed to get home. The demon – she could be anywhere. They had promised – she had _promised_ that she would be at the presbytery, but how could he for a moment trust what she had said? She was a _demon_ , she was sin incarnate, and she had no obligation to him any longer. She could have just cut her losses and vanished. He knew she was unsatisfied with how he had been treating her, he knew she had been starving, and he knew that if she could find another contract, she would.

She was _hungry_ and he had not thought to do anything than shake her hand in his haste to see the children saved. Concern battled with desire and he had to shake himself to keep from losing focus to need and want. Because he wanted his demon.

He fumbled at the lock on the gate to the grounds of the Chantry, cursing beneath his breath every second longer it took him to get to his home. He stumbled through the gate, turned and locked it behind him, and then raced to his home. The door was locked, the house was dark, and he could not hear anything that could be confused for a sign of life.

“Demon!” he called as he shoved through the front door.

He reached for the nearest light, but felt blood where he touched the wall. Horrified, he pulled his hand away, staring at his palm. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he could see the smears of blood all over his presbytery. Long lines of it, all up the wall, and across his ceiling. Feathers were matted into the blood, and the trails lead towards the back of his presbytery. Cullen figured it would be better to not turn on a light, in case someone came by.

“Demon?”

“Aaah…have…aaaahn- _name_.”

The response was breathy, and came from his rooms. There was a rustling sound, a groan, and when he opened the door to his room, what he saw made him tremble.

The demon was there, trying to prop herself up on an elbow, yes. But that was not unexpected. No, what had his very rapt attention were the three pairs of massive wings that burst from her back, filling the room with soot-blackened feathers. Blood dripped from burn marks, and some of her feathers were nothing more than spindly rachises extending painfully out from scorched flesh. He did not even notice her near-nudity until long moments later, when she tried to stand, and he realized she was not wearing a red shirt, that was just _blood_.

“Oh, Maker’s – _fuck_ , stay there, I’ll go get some – some, ah, water. Just stay there.”

“’ll see wha…I c’n do,” she huffed.

He rushed to the kitchen, collecting water, and towels for her. He hesitated at his pantry, trying to decide if she would need some food or drink, but she had only ever indicated that she consumed…well, only consumed things other people would not find sustenance in. Still, he grabbed a loaf of bread and shoved it under his arm, just in case she had changed her mind. When he returned, she had not managed to move.

She was still facedown on the floor, blood slowly dripping from burns and cuts. She weakly tried to move her wings out of his way. When he tried to reach out to brace one of the clearly broken wings, she _hissed_ , flinching away from him, trying to curl her wing in, away from him.

“Wha- what do you need?”

“Just…I need t’feed. I can’t heal m’self when I’m s’tired. Father, I know it isn’t somethin’ you’re comfortable with. But **please**. I jus’ need enough t’put my wings back together. An’ then sleep. _Please_.”

Cullen swallowed hard, trying to find his words. The demon worked hard to push herself up onto her hands and knees, head bowed. Her body trembled under the weight of her wings, and she rather quickly fell back down onto her face with a moan. Cullen put the bowl of water down on his bedside table, next to the towel. He stripped his cassock off, folding it carefully and placing it on his bed. He rolled the sleeves of his shirt up and knelt down in front of her. For all the arousal that had been burning him for the past week, he could not find it in himself now.

“Dem-I’m not…I-”

“I’m not asking you t’take your cock out, _fuck’s_ sake. There are other ways t’feed me. Come here.”

She reached out for him, her hand glowing green. Gently, she wrapped her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down to her, tilting her head to the side, as if she were going to kiss him again. He pulled away, but she pulled harder, jerking him down until their lips were just barely touching. His breath caught in his throat and he tried to steel himself against whatever was about to happen.

“Breathe for me, Father. Just. Breathe.”

She came no closer to him, just waited, patiently, for him to exhale. Finally, he relaxed just enough to breathe out a shaky exhalation. She sighed, smiled, and pulled him closer. She was halfway into his lap, her wings blotting out the dim light of the room, casting them both in shadow. The only illumination came from the dulled green glow of her hand, and the soft blue glow from her eyes.

“Breathe, Father. Just breathe, nothing more.”

It was _hard_ to breathe. It was hard to find the presence of mind to breathe when she was right _there_ and he was trembling already. He did not know what to do, but she kept urging him to breathe and his chest was aching, so he did. He breathed, his lips just barely touching hers, and she breathed with him. His exhalations were her inhalations, and as soon as he fell into a rhythm that pleased her, she hummed.

He relaxed into her, and she followed the movement, holding him steady, breathing with him. The act was soothing, if not meditative. He only had to breathe, and ignore her touch on the back of his neck, ignore the barely-there-but-not- _there­_ -enough press of her lips to his, he just needed to ignore the rustling of her wings – good _Maker_ her _wings_! His hands drifted up, skimming her hips, her waist, and then, hesitantly, across her feathers, feeling out the wounded feathers and where she had been burnt.

She gasped, pulling away from him, her back arching away from his touch, but her head rocked back, exposing her throat to him. He dipped his head and pressed a brief, hesitant kiss to her neck. A half-bitten-back moan tumbled from her lips and she tried to pull away from him before his fingers –

“ _Aaah_! Father, _please!_ Stop! The- that’s – do- _o_ -on’t!”

She collapsed against him, and this time, it was him who held her steady, bracing her against his chest with one arm, as his hand reached to card through the healing feathers. He brushed the damaged feathers away with the back of his hand and she whimpered. Her burns had faded, leaving pink, freshly healed skin. Still raw, still tender to the touch, but healed and whole. Feeding had done her well, but not so well that she was able to pull her wings away and appear without them any longer. That took more energy than she had.

Cullen reached up for the towel and basin of water he had brought into the room, but as soon as she felt that his grasp was no longer on her, she was scrambling away from him, her wings flared out defensively for the briefest of moments. In the next, however, she was crumpling, reaching for her still-wounded wing, hissing at the strain she felt in her back and down her side.

“Demo-”

She _growled_ at him. Her eyes were narrow, her lips curled back in a sneer, and Cullen caught the word on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed it down, looking away from her and the _wings_ (oh how he wanted to touch them again – they had felt like the physical embodiment of something ephemeral and he needed to **touch,** he needed to touch) until he was certain he was in control of himself again. But his mind was still focused intently on how those wings had felt and his need to feel them again.

“How…how do you want me to call you?” he asked instead of reaching out to touch her wings again.

“My _name_ is _Aurum_.”

Her name hit him squarely off guard, and he fumbled the bowl he was holding, spilling water across his leg. He knew that name. He knew that name and the legends around it. A spirit, then, not a demon. A spirit as old as the pagan faiths that the Chantry had decried for the centuries – a spirit that refused to be tamed when the Maker ordered the heavens.

“The Golden Dawn?”

“Your people did once call me that, yes.”

She huffed, sniffed, and reached fruitlessly for one of her wings, grunting as the strain sent spasms wracking down her back. There was a moment where her breath caught in her throat, a moment when the pain was just this side of being too much, and in that moment, the Father was there, reaching out to brace her still-injured wing with a hand. Again, she trembled, trying to pull away and press closer all at the same time and only managing to push her forehead into his shoulder.

Gently, as he had done with the birds he had tended to before, he felt for where the break in the delicate bones of her wing could be. Granted, the birds he had tended to were far smaller than this…Aurum was, but the basic tenets seemed to hold to the same working. She flinched when his hand moved across her wing, and he looked to her, to see if she was in any sort of pain.

“Does it hurt?”

“My wings…ah…no. Not hurt. No pain…I’ll tell you if there is.”

He raked his fingers down through her feathers, gently urging them back into order. Even if she was no longer burned across the majority of her wings, even if her feathers were whole, if a bit soot-stained, he knew it was uncomfortable for birds to have their feathers ruffled.

Maker, now that he had started, it was hard to stop. Even one-handed, he could reach a majority of her appropriately massive wings on one side, so he held her up and reached to settle the feathers. She sagged into his hold, mumbling something beneath her breath. He supported her effortlessly, holding her tight to his chest, and after a moment of fumbling, he had the towel soaked through with water so he could start washing the blood from her wounds away. With her wings blocking his view, there was no way for him to see if everything was healed, but he trusted she would tell him if he ended up harming her.

She relaxed completely into him, curling her arms around his waist and pressing her face into the crook of his neck. She tilted her body to offer her wing to him, letting his fingers work on straightening her feathers without any further fuss. No, she just relaxed into his arms, slowly scooting closer, and after a hesitant “May I?”, she slid into his lap, straddling his hips to give him the most amount of room to work on her wings. He focused entirely on the task at hand, straightening every last feather he could reach, cooing at her when she fussed after he tugged too hard on a tender spot.

Absentmindedly, he comforted her, too focused on the task he had assigned himself to realize what she was doing.

Aurum, however, was trying, trying so hard to resist every instinctive urge he was rousing in her. He was touching her wings, burying his human hands in that which truly marked her as _other_ to the world, and she had no claim to beg to be fed, not then, not yet. And as much as she wanted to beg, as much as she wanted him to not stop, it was not something she could make herself do in that moment, because she had no words to give him. He was focused on cleaning her wings, straightening the feathers, gently brushing soot and blood away from her skin, checking carefully for any injuries that would need tending to.

“You saved the children, Aurum,” he mumbled, turning his head so he could make sure she heard him.

She shivered in his arms.

“You asked me to. I wanted to. I promised to.”

“But I didn’t think you would. I didn’t…expect this.”

He carefully reached between her wings and gently dragged the damp towel down the middle of her back. Aurum’s half-there laugh dropped into a gasp and she pressed her forehead against his neck. Cullen took his hand away from her back and she sagged, fisting her hands in his shirt and pulling him closer to her. She had to grit her teeth against the sudden starbursts of pleasure in her body, and had to will herself to be still to keep from rocking her hips against his. He couldn’t know what he was doing to her.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, pushing her away just the slightest bit to see if she was in pain.

Her head dropped back again, and she struggled vainly against his hold. She did not want this – she wanted it too badly. Every absentminded touch of his human, mortal hands against her wings made her hunger for more than just his breath. She trembled at her desire, because it was overriding everything in her again. He was making it so damned hard to focus, let alone get away, because he seemed unnervingly well-attuned to just how to touch her to make it impossible for her to think of anything but how he was making her feel.

“ _Creators_ , no, you didn’t. I just – can we be done for now?” she finally managed to mutter, half-heartedly.

“Just a little bit longer. I want to make sure you don’t have any broken bones.”

He pulled her flush against him, one hand pressing against the center point between her shoulderblades as the other reached out to feel along the bones of her wings. She allowed it because she had no way to stop him. He had her at his mercy, and he didn’t even know it. When her hips jerked against his, he didn’t even seem to notice. No, he just calmly continued to check her wings for injuries. He did not want to stop touching them yet. She was in his lap, and he _liked_ that.

“I promise there are none, Father, please, I would like to be done now,” she begged, even as she pressed her face into his neck and breathed deeply.

“Aurum, I need to make certain. I won’t have you running about with a broken wing.”

He cooed at her, smoothing her hair with one hand, even as he kept the other buried in the feathers closest to her skin. Aurum panted, holding tight to his shirt, rocking her hips against his. The friction was not nearly enough for her, not nearly enough for him, but she was still trying to pull away, trying to resist the interplay of pleasure down her back.

“My wings aren’t broken! Not anymore! It’s just a strain! Please, Father, let me go, I can’t -”

“My name is Cullen.”


	4. Chapter 4

She whimpered.

“We need – the _contract_ Cullen.”

He paused and she nearly collapsed as she tried to get away. Her wings fluttered as she struggled to get out of his lap. Cullen held her steady by her hips, trying to calm her down. It didn’t work. Being trapped only made her struggled the harder, and when her hips canted against his, he bit back a curse. His hands were on her bare skin, and when he looked down, he could see her blood-stained bare chest. His mouth went dry, and she went still.

“The contract. Aurum, what contract?”

She shook her head and pushed him away, struggling to get off of his lap and away from those hands of his because they had driven all rational thought from her. She wanted those hands on her wings again, she wanted him beneath her and moaning and these thoughts were not at all fruitful because these _thoughts_ were not meant to be there.

He was a mortal, he was human, he was nothing more than a way to power and freedom, but he had touched her _wings_ and she was helpless against that. She was helpless and unhelpfully unangered at that fact. His hands were large and warm, rough with calluses, but softened from time away from the sword. Aurum shook her head. This was not something for her to be thinking about. There was a contract to make, a contract to maintain.

Defensively, her wings curled around her, masking her from Cullen’s view. She peered at him from between her feathers and fingers.

“The contract. You promised. You would take another contract with me.”

“Of course, Aurum. A contract. What does it entail?” he said softly, reaching out to brush the back of his hand across her feathers.

She shuddered.

“You swear to share your energy with me – to _feed_ me. Either as you had done before, in the previous contract you took on, or through breath, or blood, or-”

“You mean…all that time, you were just-?”

“Cullen, you took a contract someone else had made. He had commanded me to feed him, and you agreed to be bound in the same manner. Breath works fine. I merely must…I must take life from you, or something that bears life. Your breath, your blood, and your seed are usually the most common ones. However you choose to feed me, just feed me.”

For a moment, he was silent and he looked down to his blood-stained shirt. It was something to think on, that was for certain.

“Do I have to commit to one way of feeding you?” he asked quietly, his hands still absently petting her feathers. Aurum hummed happily.

“If you choose one, yes, otherwise, no. Any way you feed me as long as you feed me, is fine. _He_ had chosen one way for its pleasure. However, the contract works to ensure that I am fed as I’m promised to be. If one chooses only one way…well, I must be fed, as you had felt. You are making an oath, and the contract will work to enforce it. ”

Cullen blushed.

“So…”

“The fact that you constantly felt like you were about to _cum_ was the contract acting to urge you to feed me. Still your choice to do so, mind you, but the contract benefits us both more when it is fulfilled.”

“I don’t-”

“I am a cursed creature, Cullen. The shard of the Fade in my hand is not a gift. It grows every time I use power beyond my strength, and gives me the appearance of something far worse than what I am. Eventually, if I were to use too much power, and succumb, I _would_ be a demon.”

Aurum held her hand out, reaching past the protective barrier her wings formed, a demonstration for Cullen. The glowing green mark in her hand, once no more than two inches long now spanned the entire width of her palm. It pulsed angrily, sparking and spitting green electricity. He reached for her hand, cupping it with both of his own hands.

“I saved the children. It was, ah, more than I was capable of. I had to undo much of my work forward to ensure their safety.”

Cullen leaned forward to press a kiss to her palm, right over the mark. She gasped and quickly pulled her hand back into the protective cover of her wings.

“You undid this to save the children?”

“They are innocent.”

“But still. This curse?”

“It separates me from the Fade. It is why I walk here instead of _there_. In order to return, I must diminish it completely, and to do _that_ , I must feed and take the energy of another into myself. Doing so seals this rift in my hand, and enough of it will let me be free from this inane constraint.”

“And all you need is to be fed?”

“ _Yes_. Feed me, for however long you wish to, and I will grant your desires, for however long our contract is.”

“And that’s why-?”

“Yes, that’s why your cock was huge, and your chantry swollen with money. He promised to feed me his cum, and wanted a cock magnificent and massive and enough money to afford the priciest of whores. You took the contract without asking for clarification,” Aurum muttered, rubbing the mark on her hand.

There was silence for a while, as Aurum massaged her hand and Cullen watched her.

“What if…what if I had the contract last until that mark is gone? I can’t imagine it’s easy to find someone to bear your contract, especially if you are made to look more demonic.”

“Wh-what? You aren’t serious, right?”

He reached for her, extending his hand out to her without breaching the barrier of her wings. Aurum curled in on herself, her wings fluttering nervously around her. Did he know what he was offering? Did he understand?

“But I am serious.”

“Cullen, that could take decades. I have no idea how much it will take, and I will not force you to do anything – I will _not_ become what the curse would make me.”

“Then it will take decades. You are one of the spirits the Chantry tells us of – those who rebelled against the Maker, but swore to do no harm, yes?”

Aurum shrugged.

“Aurum, if this is something you need-”

“The contract isn’t for me! It’s for you! This whole fucking contract is for _your_ benefit, not mine. I don’t-I- you are _serious_?!” she squawked, her wings flaring out from her body angrily. This was the cruelest jape he could ever conspire to take at her expense.

“Yes. Very serious. I want to help. You saved the children even though you had no obligation to do so. You…Aurum, you did something that no one else could have hoped to do. This is the least I could hope to-”

She lunged, grabbing him by his shirt collar and jerking him close enough to butt her nose against his.

“You would bind yourself to me until this mark is gone? Of your own will?”

She could ignore, for the moment, the way his golden eyes went dark with want, and the way he reached for her again, his hands settling back down on her hips. He had to resist the urge to pull her back into his lap. This was not the time to have her in his lap, no matter how cold he felt without her warmth atop of him. She fumbled to pull one of his hands from her hip and hold it with her Fade-marked hand. Green light danced around them again, and her eyes glowed deep, hypnotizing blue.

“Yes, Aurum. I will feed you until there is no more need for you to feed. I will make you whole again. I swear.”

This time, when she kissed him to seal the contract, he opened his mouth to hers, and when her tongue questioningly quested into his mouth, he moaned and tugged her closer to him. She was quick to unfurl her wings and encircle them both as she climbed back into his lap. Cullen sighed happily, stretching his legs out and falling backwards, pulling her down atop of him. Aurum chased his movement, leaning down over him, her still-healing wings straining.

Oh, but it did not matter.

Cullen was pressing her flush to him, kissing her hard, and desperately seeking the pleasure of her mouth against his. Maker, it was so _sweet_ after so _long_. He had missed having a woman. He had missed how a woman’s body felt against his, even if he had only ever gone so far as heavy petting in a darkened pub corner with a busty wench. But he had missed it.

He had missed the idea of it, missed the illicit fantasies he had drowned in years of Templar training and a year as a Chantry Father, he had missed it all. Serving her contract had frayed his nerves, had shredded everything he had been made to build up in him. He had relearned desire, and now it scorched him from the inside out. He drank down the sweet sounds she made in between her gasping breaths, and worked on pulling more and more out of her. They were a balm on the tortured soul he held in his chest, and the press of her body to his made his heart sing entirely new songs.

The Chant was forgotten. Whatever he sang now, he sang wholly for her. He fretted over the loss of the Chant in his mind, struggling to find the familiar ebb and flow

Oh, but she sang back to him in words and emotions he had never felt, sweetly keening his name as he brushed the long lobes of her ears on the way to feel out the bones of her wings again. The feathers pressed against his palm, and she pressed herself to him. She bit his lip, hard enough to make pain flash through him, chasing all of those pesky errant thoughts about the sudden absence of the Chant in his heart away. If he had lost one song, she would fill him with another. One of glory and desire and need and –

“Maker, _Aurum_ ,” he moaned as her lips moved from his, over his chin, down the side of his neck.

Her sharp teeth stuttered pinpricks of pain along her path and he cursed anew as her hands reached for his. For a moment, he let himself revel in the feeling of her fingers intertwined with his, something so casual and still so _intimate_ , and then she was pulling his hands up over his head and pinning them there. Her grip was steel, and when he tried to pull his hands away, she growled at him, biting at the collar of his shirt.

“Do not invoke your God in this, Cullen. Do not bring His name into this. He is not here. _I_ am.”

He trembled, and nodded. His reward was immediate – Aurum released his hands and kissed him again, her mouth molded to his. Cullen reached up to cup the back of her neck with one hand, determined to kiss her for more than a few moments. It felt too good when he kissed her for him to ever want to stop. His other hand reached for her closest wing, and he raked his fingers through the feathers that formed the wing’s lining. Aurum gasped into his mouth, flexing that wing into his hand.

He gently, ­ _gently_ , curled his fingers in, grabbing a hold of the feathers and tugging. Not hard enough to hurt her, or rip the feathers from their place, but just so he could feel them. Aurum kissed him harder, her hands fluttering to his collar so she could start pulling that inane clerical collar away from him, throwing it over her shoulder. For a moment, Cullen tensed, his breath catching in the back of his throat.

“Huuuush, Cullen,” she chided, kissing his bared throat as she worked the buttons of his shirt free.

He gasped as she started kissing down his chest, pulling his shirt out of her way as she pressed her lips to the old scars he kept hidden beneath layers of clothing. She moved _down_ and he pulled her wings _up,_ and she had to pause to sigh her pleasure at that.

She did not want to think about why _this_ mortal’s hands felt so good when they touched her wings. He was not the first to touch her wings. Not by centuries was he the first. But all the others, throughout the years of her life, and the years of her curse, their touch had never felt like his did. He touched her wings, he petted her feathers, and…and…oh, she trembled beneath his ministrations. Both of Cullen’s hands reached up for her wings as she kissed his chest. He mumbled her name and sat up just slightly so he could kiss her closest wing.

“Cullen!”

“Aurum?”

She gasped and fell atop him, shivering as he continued his slow assault on her senses. Aurum tried to push herself back up, but could not find the strength. Cullen pet her wings as if she were some sort of domestic creature, absentmindedly running his hands down their length, straightening feathers as he went. He ruffled them almost immediately again, and then straightened them back.

“Cullen, Cullen, _please_!” she chanted, wrapping her arms around him and rocking her hips against his as he preened her feathers for her.

She could feel his cock, hard and aching beneath her. She wanted it. Wanted him. It was not hunger that drove her to lean up to kiss him with desperation. It was not hunger, or a need to feed, or the desire to be whole again. No, she wanted to kiss him because she wanted to kiss him. So when he leaned up, and kissed her chin, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough when he turned her head to the side and kissed her neck, and then her shoulder. It wasn’t enough when his hands hesitated at her breasts, or when his thumbs skimmed her nipples.

Aurum arched into his touch, trying to eke out more pressure from his hands. He gave her what she wanted without hesitation, cupping her breasts with both hands, his hesitance forgotten. This was new territory for him, for a certainty, but that did not stop his soon-greedy exploration of her body. Their mouths met, and Aurum swallowed Cullen’s panting breaths down, feeding from him in that moment, even as they continued. It felt so good. So _good_.

He would breathe, and then kiss her, and she would breathe his exhalation in and kiss him back. The voracious hunger that dogged her slowly faded, and with it, any sign that she had ever been injured. Neither of them noticed that, however. Cullen was engrossed in the heady feelings of arousal that she had kindled in him. She was lying atop him, propped up just enough for him to reach her wings and breasts. For a while, he was content to fondle her, marveling at the feeling of another body atop his, marveling again at how she undulated against him. She kissed his mouth, his throat, his neck, his shoulders, anywhere and everywhere that she could manage to find without moving from where she was atop him.

Cullen felt like he was drowning in the sensations of it all, floundering in waters too deep and currents to strong to ever escape, but it was the sweetest surrender. He never wanted to be parted from this sweet feeling of her body against his.

“Aurum,” he moaned as she grinded her hips down on his. Her name on his tongue tasted sweeter than the Maker’s ever did.

He wanted to tell her that, but he just could not seem to find the words. His hands drifted down her body, until they rested on her hips again. Cautiously, he tightened his grip on her so he could rock her against him. Aurum pushed herself up, and stared down at him. Grinning, she rolled her hips in time with the pace Cullen dictated, throwing her head back as soon as he started thrusting up against her. She planted her hands on his chest, pushing him down onto the ground and stretching her wings wide. Her fingers danced down his chest to his belt, tugging on the leather strap.

Cullen covered her hands with his and screwed his eyes shut. He didn’t know if he wanted this or not, he didn’t know if he wanted her to stop or carry on. This felt so good, but he had never –

“Is this too much, Cullen?” Aurum said, stilling atop him. She looked down at him, and he nodded quickly.

Her wings fluttered and folded neatly behind her, and she gave one last wiggle atop him before sliding to the side, off of him. Cullen took a few moments to understand what had happened. Desire was still echoing through him, burning his blood, but his worry and concern had cooled it enough for him to not whimper when she curled up at his side. He took a long while to catch his breath, pressing his fingers to where she had been kissing him.

“Why did you-?”

“You didn’t want to continue. So we won’t. I am tired, regardless. It’s been a long day,” she explained with a shrug. “And I won’t need to feed again until tomorrow.”

“But…I…do want to feed you.”

Aurum blinked, confused. Her wings shifted behind her back as she tried to find a comfortable position for them.

“You said-”

“It was too much.”

“Yes?”

Slowly, Cullen sat up, stripping his shirt away completely. Aurum watched carefully, uncertain what was happening. He crawled towards her, and she licked her lips. Carefully, he knelt in front of her, his hands in his lap. He worried his lip with his teeth, and Aurum tensed to keep from moving towards him. She was quickly finding herself unnervingly attracted to the way his mouth moved.

“I…I’ve not done this sort of thing, Aurum.”

“What, this is the first time you’ve bonded yourself to an ancient elvhen spirit of the Dawn? Color me shocked, serah.”

He blinked, shocked at her sarcasm, before recovering and laughing. She smirked with him, tilting her head to the side and watching him carefully. Cullen rubbed the back of his neck nervously, not meeting her gaze just then, staring at her wings and resisting the urge to reach out and touch them again.

“Second, actually.”

“Then tell me, how did the first bond go?”

“She, ah, didn’t seem to like me much. We did not get along very well, excepting for when she needed to feed.”

“Hrm. Interesting,” Aurum said, her voice rising to a mockery of a professor’s tone. “Do go on.”

“Uh, there’s not much else to say.”

“Oh?”

“No, not really.”

Aurum rolled her eyes and leaned to the side so she could stretch her wings out wide for a moment. They were truly massive things, even when folded, and having three to a side made it awkward to sit on the ground without leaning to one side or another. Her lips quirked into a smile and she crinkled her nose at him.

“I find that hard to believe. How did you feed this spirit?”

He blushed, and licked his lips. The question brought memories, and the memories bled into what had just happened and that rekindled the arousal he had thought would have abated now that she wasn’t in his lap.

“I, uh, I-I…she, I mean, I mean I, _I_ , I would, uh, she would…would, uh, she would s-suck me.”

“Oh, really now? She fed that way, then. Interesting. Did you grow accustomed to it?”

His breath caught in his throat. Words tumbled out of him before he could stop them.

“Yes. I did.”

She grinned, wide and toothy, and Cullen swallowed his nervousness. He wanted to feed her still, she had all but admitted that she was still hungry, and he still had an urge for more. But he didn’t know where to go from where they were in their conversation, to where it could be plausible for her to feed from him like _that_ again.

“And when in the day are you used to having her feed from you?”

It seemed like she was giving him the opportunity he was too cowardly to ask for himself.

“A-around now.”

Her smile was wide, but warm. Two days ago, he would have called it predatory, but now it only seared him with arousal and anticipation. She tilted her head toward the bed. Cullen wanted to kiss her neck like he had been doing previously. Her skin tasted like the sweetest cream, and even his desire to have her mouth on him couldn’t keep him from wanting to put his mouth on her. The lascivious thoughts that that roused in him made him blush scarlet anew because he, oh he wanted.

“I would hate to break that tradition, Father dear. Would you care to take a seat on your bed, then? That would make it much easier, I believe.”

He nodded along, happy to have her guide him along. Because he wanted, oh, he wanted, but he did not know how to put those wants into words. Aurum, for her part, smiled at him, moving out of his way, letting him get comfortable on his bed before moving to kneel in between his legs. She struggled for a moment to get her wings situated comfortably. Two wings was hard enough, but she had six, and a narrow space to put them into. She settled for placing her primary wings over his thighs, and letting the secondary and tertiary wings press against his knee and thighs.

Carefully, carefully, she helped him undo his belt, and work the button and fly of his trousers open. He nervously chased her movements with his hands, brushing his belt after she was done touching it, tracing the length of his zipper when she already had it undone, licking his lips nervously. This was different. This time…this time he was staring down at her with wide eyes and a heart that beat frantically in his chest, and there was no dark urge in the back of his mind making him ache with sinful need.

No, it was just Aurum, kneeling between his legs, her lips wet by a quick movement of her tongue, looking up at him, waiting for him to let her know he was okay with her starting this. He gave a small nod, just the barest dip of his chin, and with a smile, she reached for his cock and began her meal.

At first, it was just small, neat, licks to the underside of his cock, only a few, only just enough to get him to relax and be comfortable with that sensation, before she moved to sloppy wet kisses that came just barely to the edge of engulfing the head of his cock. Cullen tensed at those, the muscles of his stomach jumping, but Aurum maintained her slow, methodical teasing of him, gently fisting his cock in her hand, and stroking him in time with the movements of her mouth.

When he relaxed, she opened her mouth wide and slid down the length of his cock. He gasped, reaching for something to hold onto, and settled on her ears. This time, he did not pull or twist, even though he remembered what it had sounded like when he had done just that to her. No, this time he was gentle, matching her own gentleness with careful sweeps of his thumbs across her long earlobes. Aurum moaned appreciatively, leaning into the touch before returning to the leisurely task she had assigned herself.

Cullen whispered her name reverently, watching her mouth carefully as she swallowed his cock down. He watched her wings flutter with her movements, and as fantastic as it was to lean back in his bed and rub his thumbs across the upper lobe of her elongated ears, he still wanted to touch her wings. The way her tongue danced across his cock had him seeing stars, and quickly distracted him from whatever thoughts he was having, or considerations he was making.

He reached one hand to touch her wing, keeping the other on her ear. Aurum pulled herself up off his cock, so she could stare up at him. Her mouth hung slack and her pupils were blown wide with hunger. She took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to find her words.

Cullen pulled her ear away from him, tilting her head back as he tightened his grip on her feathers again. Aurum’s eyes rolled, and her hips gave an involuntary, ineffective jerk forward.

When he took his hand away from her ear in favor of placing his other hand atop her wing, Aurum trembled, dropping her head forward to rest it on his thigh.

“C-Cullen!” she gasped as he started to stroke her wings. He chuckled, and continued his gentle ministrations.

Her hands dropped down into her lap and she went back to sucking his prick. Cullen pet her wings in time with the dip of her head, and Aurum’s moans grew more and more desperate. She rocked against him, swallowing his cock down to the base, her throat constricting around the head of his prick. Cullen shuddered, and stroked her wings more insistently. Every ounce of pleasure she gave to him (oh, blistering toe-curling pleasure) he poured back into how he stroked and pet and preened her wings, and she would only try and return the sensation back to him.

Sloppily, Aurum continued, and even though Cullen was consumed with the feeling of it all, he could not help but to hear another wet, slick sound. It was coming from beneath where he was oriented, and his mind was not so overridden with desire for him to not understand what that could be. He cursed beneath his breath, consumed with the idea that Aurum was – was –

“Oh, oh _fuck_!” he cried as he came, his hands tightening in her wings nearly enough to pull her feathers out.

Aurum keened, pulling away just the slightest bit, before plunging back down to make sure she did not miss the actual reason for her doing this. She swallowed his cum down, her hands still at work beneath her smalls as Cullen tried to catch his breath. Creators help her, she needed more. Her fingers strummed her clit, trying to pull pleasure out her body. Her smalls were soaked through completely, and she was half-certain she was dripping her arousal onto his floor. It didn’t matter though, because Cullen’s hands were still on her wings, pulling on the delicate bones, ruffling the feathers, sending pleasure-pain shuddering down her spine.

His hands slid out from her wings, and Aurum sagged at the loss of the feeling of his hands, but then she was being lifted up and up into his lap. She squawked ungracefully, kicking her legs out as Cullen pulled her into his lap. When she struggled, he merely reached out to rub his hands through her wings again. She trembled, and went limp against him.

“Show me what you were doing, Aurum.”

“Ah…Cullen, I – It’s hard like this,” she panted, pressing her face to his neck.

“How would make it easier?”

Aurum shook her head, and moved to try and get out of his lap. She was full, for the first time in a long while, and she had already established that Cullen was not comfortable with certain things. It was just what it was. She needed more than he was willing to give in the moment, and that, she could understand. Aurum turned her back on him, intending to walk away and give him time to rest. Cullen ‘tsk’d and pulled her backwards down into his lap, her back to him. Her wings were pressed tight to his chest, and Aurum trembled.

“Is this better?”

His hands cupped her breasts for a moment, and he was careful to dip his head to press a chaste-enough kiss to her neck, even as he slid his hands lower. Aurum covered his hands with her own and wriggled, trying to disentangle herself from his grasp.

“Cullen, I – I don’t want you to feel like you have-”

“I want to know what you were doing Aurum. Show me,” he commanded, his voice steel from behind her.

She was powerless to resist that tone, and her objections faded at his confidence. Aurum released his hands, and leaned back into Cullen, her hands sliding down her stomach, slipping back beneath her smalls. She was still sopping wet, and her fingers had no trouble searching out her clit again. Aurum sighed, relaxing as waves of pleasure began washing over her, dampening any resistance she may have wanted to put up. Cullen watched over her shoulder intently, staring at her movements, studying them carefully. He wanted to know how to do this.

When he dared to slip his hands beneath her smalls, she gasped, arching into his touch.

“Y-you’re so _wet_ , Aurum,” he whispered reverently.

Her hands were quickly, and easily replaced by his own, and he was a damned quick study. Cullen kissed her neck and ear and wings, as his fingers learned how to play Aurum’s pleasure as she had done to him. He soon knew where her clit was, and circled it with languid ease, grinning into her shoulder as she bucked into his hand. This was…nice. This was better than just nice. This was Aurum in his lap, writhing and whimpering, and if he dared to reach his hand just the slightest bit lower, he could feel the entrance to her core. Hot and dripping wet, his fingers slipped so easily into her that he took a moment to actually register what he was feeling.

This was a woman’s body. This was a woman who was wet and willing and desirous of him. She panted his name and _fucked_ his fingers, throwing her head back to rest on his shoulder. He let one hand come back up to pinch her nipples in time with the quick flicks of his fingers across her clit. Aurum wailed, her wings flexing vainly against his arms in an attempt to get away from the pressure of pleasure. Cullen held her flush to him, not letting her escape, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, humming contentedly as she shivered in his grasp.

He had one of her arms pinned to her side, and the other, she used to cover her mouth to muffle the shameful sounds she was making. Cullen ‘tsk’d again, and pulled her hand away from her mouth and lacing her fingers with his.

“I want to hear you, Aurum. Tell me how this feels. I want to know.”

“C-Cullen!”

“That’s not very descriptive, Aurum.”

His fingers curled inside of her, and he bowed his head down so he could mouth gently at her wing, not minding the tickle of feathers on his tongue because he felt how much she adored the sensation. His fingers were absolutely drenched with her arousal, and she keened his name again.

“Cullen, I feel – your fingers – your **mouth** \- it’s so – _more_ , I want _more_! Please!” she panted, rocking her hips in time with the thrusting of his fingers, and turning her head away from his, to better offer her wing and neck to him.

“Tell me more,” Cullen whispered breathlessly, willfully ignoring the growing ache in his wrist so he could keep teasing her.

Her grip tightened on his hand and she whined. Cullen licked her wing, a quick swipe of his tongue across the topmost feathers. Aurum’s voice left her and she gasped for air as if someone had punched her straight in the gut.

To be fair, it felt very much like that. He was burning her with desire, and there was nothing in her mind except her need for more. Cullen was entranced, watching her every move with the attention he had once used to look for weaknesses in an opponent’s guard. There was a pale blush down her throat and chest, and when he tilted his head to look her in the eye, he could see nothing but her pupils blown so wide as to completely obscure the color of her iris. Her mouth hung open and slack, and she made minute, jerking movements with her hips against his hands.

“I- I – your, I can _feel_. Touch my wings, please. Please, I, I’m so – I’m so, almost, Cullen _please_!”

He did the most difficult thing in that moment and stopped his movements, moving his hand from her clit to her hip, and from her hand to her sternum, to hold her steady. Aurum sobbed brokenly, reaching up to try and force his hands back to where they had been, and when he was unmoved, she dropped her hands down to try and bring herself the pleasure he was now denying her.

Cullen grabbed her wrist with a grip like iron and pulled her hand away. Aurum struggled against him, trying to yank her hand out of his grasp. Her curses only made him laugh, and he kissed the tip of her ear as his only chastisement for her language.

“No. Tell me what you want Aurum. And I’ll give it to you.”

She bit her lip against the traitorous words in her mouth and turned her head away. Cullen sighed wistfully, and moved his hand back down her body, beneath the hem of her pants to begin taunting her again. His fingers curled up into her and Aurum writhed against him anew. Aurum gasped his name before covering her mouth to keep from making any sort of embarrassing proclamations. Cullen waited until it seemed as if she were moments from coming, and then stopped again to ask her what she wanted. Aurum growled her anger before mewling as he started again. She would not – she would not – she would _not_ –

“Cullen, _vhenan_ , please let me cum!”

He would ask her later what that word meant. Right now, though, Cullen went about bringing his Spirit to a screaming orgasm. He strummed her clit with his thumb, pinched her nipple with his fingers, and nuzzled the downy feathers at the conjunction where her wing met her back. Aurum froze, her breath caught in her throat, and then with a stuttering moan, she came, his name sticking in her throat.

Cullen was slow to withdraw his fingers from her, but he did, and moved carefully away from her. Aurum turned to him, her wings hanging limply from her back. Her breaths came in quick, sharp pants, and she stared open-mouthed at him. He lay down on his too-small bed, flushed and bright-eyed, and entranced by how wet his fingers were. Cullen hesitantly reached up to press his fingers to his lips, before he let his tongue slip out to taste. Aurum tensed, her wings flaring momentarily.

“I should…I should go. I’ll sleep-” she started, clearly entranced by what he was doing.

“Stay with me,” he said almost immediately, and then regretted it when she looked pointedly at his bed, with an eyebrow raised.

Somehow, when she crossed her arms, she managed to look ethereal and radiant instead of anything else.

“Get a bigger bed, Cullen. Maybe then,” Aurum said with a smile.

Her wings curled around her, obscuring her from vision. There was a flash of light, bright enough to force Cullen to look away, and by the time he looked back to where she had been, the space was empty. He was left alone, with his thoughts and the scent of her on the air. He sighed to the night air, and faster than he would have liked to, fell deep asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

In the morning, Cullen woke to the sound of the bells tolling for morning prayer. He dashed out of bed and dressed, throwing on his cassock after hastily buttoning his shirt and zipping his trousers. Even in a rush, he managed to make himself presentable within moments, knowing that if he was too late in getting to prayer, his congregants would be irritated. Well, irritated wasn’t the best word to use, but they might be suspicious, and with all the blood that Aurum had –

He stopped in his tracks, looking over the walls that had been drenched in blood just a few hours prior. Had been.

Now, however, they were cleaner than he could ever remember them being before, and Aurum was nowhere to be seen. It was a question and an investigation for another time, however, because the bells were still tolling, and he had to get going. He would figure out where Aurum was later. She was no demon, he knew. Wherever she was, she was where she needed to be. He had a congregation to tend to, and when he was done, he would return to his presbytery and find her again.

The thought brought a smile to his face, one that remained in place throughout the entire Chant, one that made his voice sing sweeter than he had ever remembered it being before, one that made his face ache with happiness.

* * *

“Aurum? Are you here?” he called as he swept back into his home, his smile still in place.

“For you, Cullen, always,” came the response.

The room brightened, all at once nearly too bright for him to look at, and when he blinked, Aurum was there, beaming at him, her wings rustling to fold themselves up against her back. She had managed to put on a shirt, it seemed, because he was no longer beholding her naked chest. No, he just could see the true glory of her wings. Now that they were not covered in soot, he could see the true colors that danced along the lengths of her feathers. They were gilt in rose gold and silver, and every movement they made set glimmers of light flickering out from her. They were –

“Beautiful, Aurum,” he said without thinking, staring at her wings.

She started, looking between him and her wings over her shoulder.

“You can still see them?” Aurum asked, her brows furrowed.

“Yes?”

She frowned, and turned to him. Magic flickered around her, but Cullen knew better than to think she was going to try and hurt him. Nothing appeared to have happened, and he remained as he had been, looking at Aurum, and waiting for an explanation on what was happening.

“You shouldn’t be able to. I – can you still see me?”

“Yes?”

Aurum made a sound under her breath, and again, magic shimmered around her. Cullen took a hesitant step towards her, and she curled away from him, her wings coming up to block him from her. He recognized the movement of her body – she had made a similar one earlier, back when he was holding the contract of another, but with her wings visible, it became that much more obvious that he was not wanted any closer to her just then.

“You…you can see me when I want to be unseen. That is unusual for a mortal to manage. Even one I’m bonded to. I just – I don’t know what to do with this information. It’s important, but I can’t think of why.”

“Is it bad that I can do this?” he asked gently, not certain if he was even phrasing the question correctly. But he had been trained in how to handle the fears and emotions of others before he was granted the mantle of “Father” and even if she was a spirit, she still had the same basic needs as anyone else.

“Bad? Not necessarily. Unusual and rare, yes. I don’t know what to make of it. It is probably nothing, just a reaction to you touching my wings, perhaps, or feeding me so well, or _something_. Regardless. Nothing to concern yourself with,” she said, making that same dismissive hand gesture he had seen her use so many times before.

Cullen rather thought that the way her wings fluttered as she spoke made it seem as if she was lying about whether or not it was something to be worried about, but he kept that opinion firmly to himself. This was probably not the time to talk about it. He only had a half hour more before he was expected elsewhere, and he wanted to ensure that she was fed enough to not cause him any trouble.

When he brought that up to her, she grinned broadly. Her approach into his personal space was a welcome one. Even if it was just the contract they had made with each other acting upon his emotions, Aurum’s presence near him made him feel something so much more sublime than anything else had ever managed to do.

“So eager, Father dearest?” she said, her tone indicating that she was teasing him.

“Cullen, Aurum. My name is Cullen,” he chided, mimicking her tone.

“As you say. So eager, then, Cullen dearest?”

He felt the furiously red blush blossom on his cheeks and chest and neck and ears. Aurum smirked, and leaned up against him. Cullen’s hands found their place on her hips once more, and he dipped his head down so she could press her lips just-barely against his. Breathing came easier this time, and she did not make any move to kiss him fully, or drive him to any sort of sin. Aurum merely breathed with him, taking what she needed from him without any more effort than breathing.

Maker save him, it lulled him into a trance so deep and soothing that when she finally pulled away, he followed her movement, trying to eke out the last few moments of whatever it was that between them. Aurum huffed and turned her head away from him. Her ear flicked out to tap him on the tip of his nose and shooed him out the door. He went without much of a fuss, but still reached back for her when she danced out of his grasp.

Her laughter sent him on his way.

* * *

They fell into a new routine. Aurum would come to him when she was hungry, and they would spend a glorious few minutes, face to face, lips barely touching, his hands on her hips, and her hands resting on his shoulders. Nothing beyond that ever happened. No, there was no repeat of that first night of their contract, no breathless moans and panting in his room apart from his own as he tried to remember what parts of the Chant used to soothe the burning in his blood back when it was a part of his training.

(Oh, but she had wiped the song of the Chant from his heart and replaced it with her own. His blood sang of her and for want of her and nothing else and nothing more. There were no hollow words to see him through the night, only memories of her and _his blood was burning._ )

It seemed every day, the shard in her hand decreased by fractions. The progress was slow, so slow, but the further it retreated, the more she came alive to him, the more she smiled and the more glorious her wings grew. Her eyes sparkled with magic, blue and beguiling and entrancing beyond anything even the finest enchanters could ever hope to manage. Aurum never ventured outside of his home, that he could tell, but she somehow managed to procure food for him. Nothing big, she had promised, she had sworn she had not stolen anything.

She just made him meals now, happily occupying his previously underutilized kitchen and ensuring that he ate, and ate well. He did not want to consider what she was doing to be doting, but Cullen also could not – and did not _want_ to deny the fact that it was wonderful to come back to his home at the end of the day, and find her smiling for him, with some amazing, ancient-recipe’d meal set out for him to enjoy. When he asked about it, she deflected the question away with that too-familiar dismissive gesture.

“You are feeding me. Why should I not feed you as well?”

It was not nearly a good enough answer to satisfy his curiosity, but it was enough to keep him from objecting overloudly. Aurum smiled gracefully and left it at that, content with her explanation and Cullen’s acceptance of the matter.

And all was well.

Maker, was all well.

* * *

Cullen was anxious. He had…well he had done something that he hoped she would enjoy. Not – not that he was _expecting_ anything out of this – he had had the bed for a long time it had come with him from his Templar barracks and it was damned time that he left that life behind and it was not at all anything else but him wanting something small for himself.

He hemmed and hawed about how to keep Aurum away from where she could see what was happening and settled on asking her to simply not be present for an hour or so. She had stared at him, eyebrow raised and a question half-on her lips before shrugging and popping out of the room. Cullen did not have much time before her curiosity brought her back, he knew that, so he did his best to make sure that he got as much done in as little time as possible, all on his own.

He had to remove his old mattress and bedframe, gifting those immediately to a family he had contacted before this whole thing started. His new frame and mattress arrived mere moments after, and with a little help from some of his congregants, he got the new bed in place in his room.

Cullen apologized at length for taking so much of his congregant’s time, thanking them profusely for their assistance, sending them home with leftovers from the dinner one of the older women had made for him that he had not touched. It wasn’t something Aurum had made for him, and he was, thereby, uninterested in eating it. The men were happy, and assured Cullen that he well deserved this new, nicer place to lay his head down. He was their favorite Father, after all, and the bed was just austere enough to be fitting for a man of the Maker, even if it was new.

He nodded along to their polite conversations and hurried them out as best he could without appearing to be intentionally driving them off. He had to –

“Did you…get a new bed, Cullen dearest?”

Aurum had decided she liked that epithet, and clung to it throughout their relationship. It still brought a blush to Cullen’s cheeks every time, and finding himself discovered before he was ready to be.

“I did, yes.”

“Fascinating. Why?”

His blush darkened, and she laughed.

“I see.”

“I-it’s not that! I wanted to-”

“I’m teasing, Cullen. Calm down.”

She leaned against his doorframe and regarded the bed and him with a grin. His heart tumbled over itself in his chest and he smiled back at her. Aurum sauntered towards him, her grin still on her face. He instinctively reached for her, wanting to have her closer to him as soon as possible. Aurum folded herself neatly into his arms, leaning up to feed from him as she had done hundreds of time before, but this time, Cullen kissed her, sliding his hands up her back, cupping her bottommost wing joints in his hands. Her surprised gasp gave him recourse to slide his tongue across her lips.

Sighing, Aurum reached up to bury her hands in his hair and kissed him harder. She pulled him close to her, not satisfied with just hesitant kisses. No, no she wasn’t satisfied with just this. Not when he had his hands on her wings again, not when he was moaning into her mouth with every undulation of her body against his. No, she would never be satisfied with just this.

He stumbled backwards, his knees knocking into hers, and Aurum fell with him onto his new, larger bed. Aurum was quick to straddle his hips, pinning him down beneath her, still kissing him. Cullen groped her wings, reveling in the feeling of her feathers against his flesh after so long. It had been agony to see her wings every day and never truly have a reason to touch them again. He wanted to see her taken to pieces again.

“A-aurum, I-” he fumbled for the words, trying to find the best way to put his thoughts together.

“Hush, dearest. Kiss me. Touch me.”

The commands were easy enough to follow, and he did so with gusto. He pet her wings, feeling out every feather, every muscle, every part of her, delighting in her every shudder. She nipped his lip, tugging slightly, breathing his gasp in. When Aurum dipped her head to his shoulder, he took the chance to press his lips to her ear. He remembered how she had reacted the first time and it appeared that nothing had changed between then and now. Aurum moaned into his shoulder, grinding her hips down onto his. He flexed up, seeking that pressure and friction she had given him. She turned so she could bite his neck, leaving reddened almost-bruises in her wake. Her affection was hot and wet, and had Cullen squirming beneath her within moments.

He gasped her name as she started to undo the buttons of his shirt, urging him to help her, but he was still too consumed with keeping his hands buried in the feathers of her wings. She had six beautiful, golden, glowing wings, and even as he closed his eyes against the pleasure, he could still see the outline of her wings in bright contrast against his eyelids. He threw his head back and keened her name when he felt her pull his shirt wide and set her hands against his ribs.

His blood sang her exultations as she worked her mouth lower and lower down his throat and chest. She was ever so careful to keep her wings in place so he could continue to fondle them, even as she sealed her lips over one of his nipples and sucked. Cullen was only vaguely aware of the litany of curses pouring out of his mouth, and ripped one of his hands away from her wings to cover his mouth, as if that would staunch the unending flow of pleasure-born words from his lips.

It didn’t, gods above it didn’t, but it made him feel like he was that much more in control as Aurum made mincemeat of his weeks of self-control around her. Her presence in his home had been more of a tease than he would otherwise have cared to admit, and whatever the nature of their contract was, he was certain it wasn’t responsible for the blossoming feelings in his chest that he had been feeling for the longest time. Whatever it was that had bloomed between them, this was its ultimate culmination.

He pulled her up before she could get to work on his belt and trousers, kissing her fiercely to keep her from questioning why he insisted on this. Cullen did not want to give a moment of this away to needless explanation. He wanted her, he had her, and that was all that could satisfy him.

With confidence he could pretend he felt, he shrugged out of his shirt, and went to work on attempting to pull Aurum’s shirt over her head. The wings were a problem, he found, as their corporeal nature kept him from being able to divest her of that particular garment. She chuckled at him, and pushed his hands away from the hem of her shirt.

“Magic, dearest. I use magic to get dressed and in certain, _special_ cases, undressed,” she purred, kissing the tip of his nose to keep him from feeling too off-put by her words.

Aurum leaned back, letting him watch as her clothing melted away, leaving her modesty only preserved by the artful bend of her wings. Light illuminated her being, and she glowed. No other light could hope to match her glory. She was the Golden Dawn, made flesh and bound, and bound to him and he could only stare. Oh, he could only stare.

“What do you want, Cullen?”

A thousand thousand words stuck in his throat. Poetry that seemed beautiful when he was younger no longer seemed apropos, no longer seemed worthy enough to be spoken in her presence. The ballads of the Chant, even if their song had been long forgotten to him, even they paled in her light. He struggled for a single thought, a way to express what he craved, but all he could manage was a single word:

“You.”

Aurum beamed at him. He smiled up at her, awed that that was somehow the right answer, awed again that she was still where she was in his lap and that this was _happening_ because it was _Aurum_.

Her magic whispered around him, and he did not fear it. Not her magic, never her magic. She reached out to brush an unruly curl of his hair out of eyes, and he was quick to catch her hand in his own before she could withdraw it away from him. The shard of the Fade lodged in her flesh was the merest line, visible, but no wider than the fingernail of his forefinger. Cullen kissed the mark, unafraid of it or the ill portent Aurum claimed it to be.

It sparked against his lips, and he heard her sigh.

With his mouth still pressed against her hand, he reached for her again, setting his hand at the dip of her waist, pulling her closer ever so slightly. She obliged him with a laugh, edging her knees further up the bed, until her knees were settled just beneath Cullen’s armpits. Aurum was careful to keep her weight off him, assuming he was going to be moving as well, since she doubted it was comfortable for him to be lying as he was, with his legs hanging off the end of the bed as they were.

What he did instead, however, was move his hand from her waist down to the juncture of her legs to slowly start running his fingers across her cunt. Aurum shuddered, tensing for a moment, waiting for Cullen to do something more concrete than brush feather-light touches across her core. Her mind was a haze of need and desire, but she knew that she did not want to rush him, or force him in any way, shape or form. He was important to her. After all this time, he was, in fact, important to her.

Slowly, as if he, too, were waiting for her to say “stop”, he pushed one finger up into her, cursing in the same tone as Aurum. She was hot and wet and so very ready for him, and he could feel that with every steady pump of his finger in and out of her. Aurum was willing to take things slow, and would never dream of forcing Cullen to do something he did not, honestly, wish to do. But he was driving her mad with his methodically even pace. He stared up at her, watching for every minute reaction, reveling in every last moment of this exquisite torture.

It was not nearly enough to bring her to orgasm, he knew. She knew that as well, but she did not seek to rush him, or to do anything more than slowly, carefully, rock her hips against his hand. But it gave him time to think, gave him time to calm himself down, gave him the clarity he needed to fully understand what it was that he wanted from her.

He wanted her.

The feelings in his chest spilled out of his mouth, only to be muffled by her hand. Aurum shivered regardless, as if she could hear what he was saying. That was impossible, but it was still a thought that made him blush all over. He would find the courage to say them to her again, but for the moment, this was enough.

Well, no, it wasn’t enough. He wanted more than just this, but his hands were rather occupied and he couldn’t think of an easier way to get out of his clothing than to take his hand away from her. He didn’t want to do that.

“Do you want out of your clothes, Cullen?” she whispered, almost as if she had read his mind. He didn’t doubt she could, but –

He nodded regardless, and with that same breathless flash of magic, he, too, was naked. Naked and hard and waiting and wanting. Oh, he wanted her. He wanted so much in this moment. He wanted her in every way it was possible to have someone. He burned for her touch, and when she gave it, when she brushed her hands across his chest, he arched into her hands. Aurum smiled down at him.

Gently, she lowered herself down onto him, settling herself neatly on his hips, watching him carefully to make certain that he was still handling this turn of events. Cullen bit his lip. It was certainly a different thing to feel her like this. She was still in his lap, yes. That was certainly good. Naked, also good. But his mind was having a hard time understanding where to go next. The vortex of thoughts only simplified down to “Oh, oh yes,” which was not overly helpful to him in figuring out where to go next. It was Aurum. Naked. On his lap.

“Tell me what you want, dearest,” she said softly, leaning over him, brushing her fingers down the curve of his jaw.

“ _You_ ,” came the answer again.

She beamed at him, and kissed him. This, at least, was familiar. He knew how it felt to kiss her, and he enjoyed it. More than just enjoyed, he delighted in the feeling of her lips against his, and when she dropped her chest down against his, he delighted in the familiar feeling of her breasts pressed to his chest. That was still something he understood. Her hips, her naked hips, canted against his, and he saw stars explode behind his eyes.

 _That_ was fantastic.

He must have moaned something to that effect, because Aurum giggled and repeated the movement, grinding herself against him. Cullen reached to her wings once again, idly petting down the length of her trio of wing-pairs, while starting to rock his hips in time with hers. The friction, the slick interplay of heat and pressure made him grind his teeth. She kissed him until he relaxed, stuttering his name as he gained confidence in his every action.

He kissed her hard, not minding the way her teeth and his clicked as they hit each others. Cullen wrapped an arm around her waist and moved to turn her onto her back. Her wingtip smacked him inelegantly in the nose, and with a loud laugh, he pressed a kiss to her wing again before laying her down on his bed. She arched her back for a moment, fluttering her wings helplessly as they were pinned beneath her. Cullen drew back, to make certain that she was comfortable with the movement, and when she indicated she was, he shook his head and leaned down over her.

Cullen hissed her name when she ran her fingernails down his arm and swallowed her laugh down with another kiss.

“You drive me mad, Aurum.”

“Can’t have that, can we, Cullen dearest?”

“I could be convinced of madness if you keep doing that,” he grit out as she leaned up to suckle on his neck. “I could be convinced of _many_ things if you keep doing that.”

Aurum huffed.

“That’s certainly promising then. Whatever should I start convincing you to do, I wonder?”

She gave an impatient jerk of her hips against his and somehow, Cullen had bloodflow enough to blush all over again. Aurum did find it rather adorable, but his hemming and hawing was starting to grate on her. She wanted him right now and he was more than willing to comply it seemed. If only he would stop pausing every few moments to blush or stammer. He wanted what he wanted, and she knew that. He wanted her.

Cullen pushed himself up over her, staring down at her as if she was holiness incarnate. The worship was well deserved, but she wanted something more.

“Cullen, come now. I want _you_ , too. Come down here an-”

He silenced her with a swift kiss, reaching down to fumble with his cock. His knuckles bumped nearly too-hard against her clit, and Aurum gasped. Her wings flexed fruitlessly beneath her, and Cullen was very quick to apologize, stopping what he was doing to check to make certain he had not caused her harm.

“Dearest, I appreciate your concern. Truly. I do. But so help me, I am not made of spun sugar. I am a Spirit from the time of Arlathan, if someone being too rough with me was enough to break me, I wouldn’t still be here,” she snapped, reaching up to stroke the side of his face. “Now come on. Madness awaits, does it not?”

He laughed nervously along with her more confident chuckle, and moved back to what he had been doing. This was madness. This was delightful, torturous madness and he succumbed willingly. This time, when he stroked his cock and looked down to make certain that he had the angle right, she cooed support and encouragement at him, lifting her hips to make it easier on him.

Cullen groaned, long and low, as he finally, finally slid into her. Aurum keened beneath him, reaching up to fist her hands in the still-new sheets of his bed. He found his tempo unnervingly fast, and Aurum nearly made a sarcastic comment about it, but Cullen found his _depth_ surprisingly fast as well, and soon enough words had left her mind, and all there was was _Cullen_. No one – not in all of her years – no one had managed to make her feel like this.

He was everywhere, not content to linger in any one place for too long. It was as if he wanted to consume her pleasure, to break her of all ability to feel it, save for in his arms, and Aurum succumbed gladly. She had lived her entire life, since the curse, bound by the code to never submit, but to Cullen?

Oh, she threw her head back, and let him taste the flesh of her throat.

Oh, she arched her back just enough to present her wings to him, to let him bury his mortal hands, touched by the doomed taint of death, in her feathers.

Oh, she acquiesced to every unvoiced command that she felt rumbling on the back of his tongue.

Oh, she _submitted._

He moaned her name so sweetly, never ceasing his motions, driving into her with enough force to make stars burst behind her eyes and starlight jump across her skin. Aurum smiled around the syllables of her praises, layering his every movement with endearments in every language she knew. Even if the words were lost on him, Cullen knew that she was pleased, and held tight to his pride in the matter. 

They moved together, hips rising and meeting and falling and parting in the rhythm as old as the ages.

Aurum had rather assumed this would be a rushed affair, that Cullen would be overwhelmed and she would have to convince him to carry on so that she could find her own pleasure. But he shocked her by slowing his pace, catching his breath, and doing his level best to fuck her brains out of her pointed ears with slow, methodical thrusts.

She scrabbled for purchase on his sheets, before abandoning them in favor of grabbing onto his biceps and screwing her eyes shut. He shook her hand off one arm so he could reach down and grab her knee to pull it higher, changing the angle of his thrust at the same time until Aurum could not keep her mind focused and came with a scream. Above her, Cullen choked on a very un-priestly-sounding curse before collapsing beside her, pinning half of her wings to his bed. She did not even try and move him off of them, preferring instead to roll herself atop him and encircle him entirely in her wings.

The movement was protective, ~~loving~~ and intimate. Idly, Cullen stroked her wings anew, and she - she did not _snuggle_ him, necessarily, but she did not move from her position on top of him, nor did she fuss when he struggled to get her wings out from underneath him and reached for a blanket to cover them both with. Aurum was merely happy right where she was. That was all. Really.

Really.

* * *

Months passed, and Aurum found that his new bed was just large enough for them both. Cullen grew accustomed to the press of wings across his chest and another body curled against his, and Aurum...well she began to remember what it had been to be mortal.

As they did now, Aurum stood at the door as the bells in the Chantry rang, ready to kiss him as he left for his work in the community. It was their own routine. No matter what happened, he never left his home without at least briefly feeling her lips against his. Sometimes he would make breakfast, othertimes she would, but it always ended with him leaving with her kisses pressed to his skin. Sin, some may call it, but Cullen was past the point of caring. He shared his bed with this Spirit, shared his life and everything with her. That was more than some of the truly married couples could ever hope to say.

She kissed him gently, as she had done in all those mornings before, and as he sometimes did, he had to search for a way to keep from his traitorous words from spilling out of him. Today, he reached for her Fade-scarred hand and kissed her palm, letting the need to tell her _things_ bleed away from him with that moment. What he did not expect, however, was for there to be a flash of green light and for his mouth to suddenly taste like magic. Aurum yelped and pulled her hand away from him, and Cullen covered his mouth with his now-free hand, and looked to see if she was well.

Aurum was staring at her hand, eyes wide and mouth agape.

“How?” she asked, amazed, looking up at Cullen.

She stared at her hand, where the mark had been, but was no longer.

He had pressed his lips to her palm, and the mark was gone. Gone! It was gone and she could feel everything that had been denied to her for so long. She nearly slid back into the Fade right then, and had to clutch Cullen by the arm to keep herself grounded.

“Aurum what’s-?”

“Cullen, dearest, I don’t have the time. I – you _did_ it. The curse is broken! I – I have much to do. It has been many centuries since I have been truly myself. I must go.”

He was stricken, reaching out to hold onto her as she was holding to him, as if that would be enough to keep the old magics from demanding her presence. He had never managed to tell her, and now she was leaving? No! Cullen’s arms wrapped around her protectively, and he ducked his head to bury his face in the crook of her neck. He was not going to let her go. He was not. She **belonged** with him.

“Aurum, no.”

Her laughter was dry.

“My dearest, I will come back. I will always come back for you. I promise.”

“When?” he snapped, pulling her closer to him by the merest fraction of inches.

“When it is done. When I can be with you again. I will come back for you, Cullen. I will not leave you alone.”

The utter conviction she spoke with did soothe him. She looked to him, her blue eyes blazing with power. In that moment, he knew that she was truly limitless, truly a spirit beyond his understanding, but in that moment too, she was still his. She laced her fingers with his and kissed him. Her lips and tongue met his own, and he melted into her touch as he had done thousands of times before. Magic hummed around them both, and Cullen felt it wrap around his wrist. He looked down, and watched as a glimmering band of gold appeared. Aurum stepped away from him, looking towards the sky outside his home. He reached for her again, a thousand questions jumping at the tip of his tongue.

But she vanished, disappearing as easily as she had first appeared in his life, leaving him standing in his home, with a shimmering bracelet around his left wrist, and more questions than she had seen fit to answer.

* * *

The dawn broke through the night sky. Cullen looked to it, as he had done in the years she had been gone from him. Some days he felt as if it had all been a dream – his demon, his spirit, his _Aurum_.

Did he even have the ability to call her that? Was she ever his? Was she ever real?

But then he would look at the shimmering thread around his wrist, unsullied by the years, unbroken despite his living. He would remember her last kiss, how it had been hard and aching with centuries of loneliness as she readied herself to leave his side to do what she had always been called to do. He would remember her, and he would await the dawn.

This time, this time though, it was not merely the sun’s rise that he saw. No, the horizon grew brighter and brighter, until he had to turn his head away from the sun, lest he burn his eyes. When he found that he could finally turn back, what he saw made his heart stutter like he was young again.

“Hello, dearest.”

She held her hand out to him, and he took it without hesitation. The years fell away, as did his concern for whatever it was that he was leaving behind. Aurum, the Golden Dawn, had come back for him. The years fell away, and he stepped through the Void itself to be at her side. He belonged there, and as her wings enveloped him, he whispered her name with the reverence of a devotee. She whispered his name back, draping him with the adoration of love. They were together, after so long.

And they would never be parted again.

* * *

He whispered love too pure to be put into words against the hand that had borne her curse.

She whispered love back to him when she took him from the world of mortality.

Dawn’s coming had never been more beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now it's over. 
> 
> Thank the Creators. On to more productive uses of my time. Like Avvar!Cullen fic. BECAUSE I HAVE A PROBLEM, ALRIGHT.


End file.
